Brothers of Betrayal
by DreadPirateRoberts94
Summary: So this is how it ends? A tyrant's rule...a vain ambition...a bloody betrayal?" So were the dying words of Caspian the Ninth. The treachery of Miraz led to his downfall. Book-verse. Rated K for violence. My first fanfic. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia or its characters, for they all belong to its creator, C.S. Lewis. I have added other characters for plot enrichment and the enjoyment of the reader.**

**Author's Note: And so it begins: A tale of a great betrayal. I hope you enjoy it. This is just a simple prologue telling you about what the whole thing is going to be about. This fanfic is rated K+ for moderate violence throughout, sometimes implied. Expect lots of updates. (Don't worry, they won't be all this short!)**

**Hey guys, since this thing has just been sitting around for a long time I've decided to revise it - spelling/grammar mistakes, adding detail, filling in plot line holes...if you noticed anything please say something! :) And also, if you like my fanfic, nominate it for a Lion Award at .com!! :D  
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~Prologue~

_Darkness has fallen, though dawn has just risen. The rich sounds of the morning light will soon be silenced under the shadow of our new leader. His brother was lenient and good to his people. The lord protector is a sharp contrast. Death collapses all around us, in a sudden blackness that no one can elude. Any sudden trickle of light in this night is doused, any hope shattered, any wink of love or happiness - shattered by him. The veil falls now, as I hear the screams of children left behind as their parents, debtors, are taken off to prison at the wave of his hand. Though it is market day, the streets are silent. Farmers have no surplus to sell. Townspeople have no money to buy. I hear his curses as he beats an incompetent soldier. The soldier screams, but suddenly falls into the most blood-curdling silence, a silence that one breathes in death.  
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_Everyone now lives in that silence, its spectral shadow riding on their hunched shoulders. The people wait for death, hoping that what's on the other side will free them from their dictator's bonds. Their extortion is the blood on his hands. Their payment is every tear that falls from their downcast eyes. The people need a hero, a redeemer out of the ashes. But no one will come to their aid.  
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_The birds stop their singing. It is quiet. _

_It isn't a sweet silence. _

_It is a cold silence. _

-Journal excerpt from Doctor Cornelius, some time during the reign of the Lord Protector Miraz


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia or its characters. All of these belong to its original creator C.S. Lewis. **

**Author's Note: Chapter One has arrived! Updates will come steadily. Feel free to review! I'm introducing tons of new characters that have a slight parallel with the characters in _Prince Caspian, _such as a Nurse and a slightly sadistic King. There is actually a character from the book that has a very large appearance towards the end of the chapter. Enjoy!**

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~Chapter One: Be More Like Him~

"If only, Miraz, you were more like your brother!"

Miraz watched angrily as nurse dipped the stained woolen cloth into a bronze basin full of warm water, chastising him as she worked. He loved the old, graying nurse dearly, for she was an easy person to love: she had cared for him like a son since the cradle, but he always knew that however hard busy Nurse scolded him, his father would scold him with twice the force. Nurse would scold him, reprimand him, but all with love - while Miraz wondered if his father showed _any_ love to him. If he did, he did not show it to Miraz. It was all hidden - or given to the braggart Caspian.

Nurse now bent over him, her laughing gray eyes scanning his wounds as she dabbed at his dirt-stricken, bruise-ridden face, pushing his unruly dark curls aside tenderly.

"I don't want to be like my brother." Miraz protested, his eyes filled with hate. He tried to shy away from her gentle musings. "You do not know him as I do. In the court in front of everyone, he's as sweet as a rose, perhaps, but as my brother, he's no better than a _fox_ to a hound!"

"Oh, nonsense, young'un!" Nurse tutted, returning to the basin to wash her leathery hands. She wiped them on the cloth and set the rag by the water. She thought this was just Miraz's fiery little temper acting up as it always did. She hoped dearly, after every spasm, that he would grow out of it. "You two are just boys at present. Both of you are growing up, trying to find your place in this good earth." She approached him again. "Now, I believe your father is wanting to speak with you in the hall. So, tut! Off your bottom, then!"

Miraz slid none to happily from the stool on which he sat and approached the wool-clad gentleman-in-waiting by the tall doors. He felt Nurse's merry eyes watch him as he retreated sulkily through the doors behind the servant. _She doesn't understand, _he thought angrily. _She never will. He's not her brother. And I very much wish he wasn't mine either._

The king's hall—a royally studious affair. The great golden throne of King Caspian the Eighth of Narnia stood in front of a huge, purple-curtained window with panes of rich stained glass. A rose-red, albeit worn carpet was underfoot, expanding from the king's chair to the high doorway that Miraz now stood in, feeling dwarfed by its size. Pillars lined the way to the throne like tall specters of doom to the young prince, unprepared for his father, the king, who stood waiting for him.

He walked slowly up to where his father stood by the throne. A figure peeked out impishly from the king's straight form, grinning from ear to ear with a mischievous smirk, his princely brow lifted delicately, as if he were looking at a filthy peasant.

Caspian!

Everyone in the kingdom adored young Caspian the Ninth; Miraz was aware of that. They thought him an angel like his mother. Handsome, glib, and somewhat polite, he was a picture of delight and a near copy of his father, and, not to mention, heir to the throne of Telmarine Narnia. He came from the long line of the noble breed that his father, and his grandfather, and his sires before him were birthed from.

The only one in the castle who hated the boy outwardly was Miraz.

Caspian now stood beside his father, scrutinizing his younger brother with a mockingly vigilant eye. He carried a small arming sword on his silver-studded belt, plain against his velvet tunic and silk, ballooning sleeves. _What a fool, _Miraz thought, as he glared at his brother and making sure Caspian saw that stare, _He makes himself a fop...merely to impress Father! _

"Miraz," his father's tone was like the tone of one trying to strike up a conversation, though his voice remained like the stone it was, cold and scraping. He'd never liked his father's voice, for it was always disciplinary and emotionless. "There is dirt on your tunic sleeve."

Miraz, without moving his head, looked down at his tunic sleeve. And etch of dirt bruised the starched white of the cuff. He swore he heard a small snicker from beside King Caspian and tensed. The prince put his hands behind his back innocently, concealing the mark. He glared coldly at Caspian, who had in fact been snickering and was now grinning daftly and leaning against the throne nonchalantly and irreverently.

"You've been out this morning, then?"

Miraz nodded, not daring to meet his father's hawk-like gaze. A scoff escaped Caspian.

"Where?"

Miraz swallowed. "The-the market street, sir."

"Oh?" The king breathed. He paced back and forth slowly in front of the throne. "And on market day, too? It's dangerous to be on that street on market day. Heavy wheels. Strong horses. Many people die 'neath their well-shod hooves. Why did you visit the market, then?" Miraz waited a moment to speak, to organize his words and be sure he didn't sound silly.

"Well, if you understand me, sir—I-I wanted to see the Calormenes who come each week to sell silk. I-I think that they're very—er—interesting, strange people, the Calormenes, and I wanted—well, I wanted to talk to them, sir. I was…I was curious, sir." Miraz rambled on and tumbled over his words stupidly, knowing that he sounded like an idiot and a complete child. Curiosity was one of the many things that King Caspian frowned upon - especially if it was Miraz's curiosity.

Caspian scoffed again, this time louder.

"Interested in those Eastern rogues, eh? How did you get those bruises, then?" The king asked, scanning Miraz's face for lies.

"Well, I fell on my face quite a lot, sir, because I had to get out of the way of the merchant's carts, and once an old peasant bashed me up against a seller's stand while he was hurrying down the road."

The king nodded. "Ah, I see. And I am not at all daunted by your actions, Miraz, but as the king's son, the prince—you are superior to all other life in the kingdom. You are not a mangy hound running around in the streets." Miraz lowered his eyes.

_He just doesn't want his pride wounded_. Miraz thought angrily. _If anyone saw me, a well-dressed prince, scouring the streets like a sick dog as father said, they'd blame the king for not looking after his son and thus not respect him. He cares more for himself than his own kin!_

"You know that your deed is punishable, Miraz. You will watch another pay for your transgressions." The king looked to the door.

"I know, sir." Miraz murmured.

Still looking behind the prince, King Caspian the Eighth cried to the servants at the door:

"Bring him in!"

The door opened and two well-dressed attendants standing on either side of a bound, ragged figure entered and dragged the boy before the royal family. He was hunched over and looked double his age, which was probably only twelve or thirteen, a bit older than Miraz. He was thin and emaciated but wiry and long-legged, strong enough to withstand his toils. The matted hair hung around his face in limp black curls and dark, threatening eyes flashed out beneath them, staring right at Miraz, eying his bruises as if to say, _you know nothing of pain_. Garbed in a threadbare, white tunic and trousers far too short, he looked wild and unnatural against the splendor of the king's hall. But Miraz knew the face of the boy. He knew it all too well.

It was the face of young Glozelle.

One of the attendants pulled back the boy's ragged shirt, showing his scarred back, some of them bumpy and worn down, others still jagged and fresh on the skin. He'd been punished before. The other attendant, the younger and stronger of the two, was holding a long, sinewy whip in one hand. He shoved up his sleeves, and pulled the horsewhip back to strike with intense force.

"This was a paltry wrongdoing. The boy doesn't deserve a lot of pain. But he will have to withstand some because of your sin, Miraz." The king announced. "Five."

The whip-wielding attendant nodded and struck hard. Miraz counted nauseously in his head.

_One!_

A wince.

_Two!_

A pained grunt.

_Three!_

A bearing of teeth.

_Four!_

A small tear.

_Five!_

Nothing.

The king nodded, undaunted. "Very well. Prepare the boy to play his lute for me at supper."

"Aye, sir." The whip-wielding attendant said. The other yanked down the boy's tunic and turned him around, letting Miraz see the stained outcome of his deeds.

**TO BE CONTINUED **


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, nor do I own its characters or its plot lines. All of these belong to C.S. Lewis. Characters such as Sir Steiphen and Queen Anea I have added. **

**Author's Note: Lo and behold, Chapter Two! A new character is introduced in this story and will later on become rather important in some turning points (his name is actually the chapter title). This isn't one of the more action-y chapters, but hang in there, it will come! So, enjoy! Please review. **

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~Chapter Two: Sir Steiphen~

"Poor boy Glozelle. Even five lashes is torture, I'm sure. I had to tend to him tonight. Stitches and what not." Nurse put a silver platter holding stew and bread on it in front of Miraz in his roomy chamber. The sky was dark outside the windows, so a high chandelier lighted the chamber. Miraz pushed away the tray, staring glumly at the etches in the table and thinking of the events of the day. Though he disagreed with his father often, he knew that he _had_ been stupid to go out that morning.

Nurse bustled over to him, briefly checking his bruises and then brushing a hand across his forehead. She looked at him with concerned eyes.

"What ails you, love? Be you ill?" She inquired. Miraz turned away.

"I'm not hungry, is all." Miraz grumbled.

The bushy eyebrows of the nurse rose. "Ah. I thought you were more silent than usual."

"It's that brat Caspian!" Miraz finally told the truth, for he knew he could to Nurse and not get in trouble for it. "He was grinning like a Cheshire when they were beating Glozelle." He remembered staring at the boy as the whip fell upon him, looking into his dark eyes that were staring back at him in a strange, animal-like gaze. He seemed in a trance as he was whipped, as if he was trying to escape from the reality that held him. And Caspian_ laughed_ at such a thing?

Nurse shook her head sadly. "Poor, poor lad. His life is doomed to torturous tasks in the kingdom, what being an orphan and all." Nurse rose from her kneeling position, whisking herself over to the basin again, the water within it now cold. "Your father wanted to converse with you privately and without the audience of your brother tonight. I suppose he wants to be more social with you? I know you two are oil and water at times..."

Worry crossed Miraz's face. His father? More social? Surely not. He only meant to chastise him further - to tell him that he was a great disgrace to the kingdom and unworthy for being a prince, and to be grateful that he didn't inherit the crown.

"Now, don't fret, child!" Nurse grinned at his worry, trying to cheer him up. "He barely speaks to you, nor you with _him_! Now put on something more presentable, perhaps your good velvet and that lovely little gold mount?"

Freshly garbed and clean of dirt, young Miraz made his way down the hall, trying to look superior almost, with his chin high and neck long, a hand resting gently and elegantly on a small, gold-encrusted mount adorning his belt, as if trying to show the meager passers-by that he was no trouble-making prince, though his bruises betrayed that thought. He moved along the hall at a sedate pace, taking in the wall tapestries and idling about to stall his visit with his father.

He continued on, fearing what his father would say to him so privately. He found his father to be a stern, powerful figure, albeit condescending, dwarfing even the greatest of his ancestors and casting his shadow on the villagers. He knew his brother would probably be much like his father, inheriting many of his sharp, aquiline features and heir to the throne and the future keeper of the power. For this, Miraz abhorred his brother and at the same time feared him, as well.

He came to his father's great quarters. It mimicked the throne room in some ways, with the pillars and the rich purple velvet, though it was much smaller than the throne room. His father kept a large gray-and-black falcon that he had trained for hunting—he was always very pleased to show it off in a hunting party. It was always perched in his room over by a small window, clicking and chirping as if it were just born, twisting its head round in a stupid fashion..

Miraz peered in. To his surprise, his father stood beside another figure, and it seemed that they had been conversing for a long time. The prince recognized this figure to be Sir Steiphen.

Miraz had known Steiphen's father, the pompous, stout Lord Gordon, who had died but a winter before. Steiphen was quite different from his father. Distinguished, grave, and militant, Steiphen was the commander of the Telmarine Army, though he was only twenty years. He was highly acknowledged by Miraz's father, so it seemed, and thus he had a high position. He was a slim, powerful figure, standing eye-level with the king. Though not as steady-handed and more lenient than the monarch, the fire in his eyes showed that he was not one to be messed with. Miraz listened to their conversation.

"We have no enemies, Steiphen. We are at peace with the other nations." Caspian was assuring Steiphen, though the commander still had a glint of doubt on his face.

He protested. "I beg to differ, your majesty." He said, his voice a murmur. "We have enemies. We always will." He was brave enough to challenge the king by adding: "Not everyone will always agree with you."

Caspian, taken slightly aback, shot him a look. "Who is it then? Who is this—er—great, _impenetrable_ enemy, Steiphen?"

Steiphen sighed at the king's insulting sarcasm, almost stalling, but finally said:

"Terabinthia, your majesty."

"_Terabinthia_?" The king gave a small chuckle. "Do not be daft, Commander. And you are usually so sensible, too! Terebinthians are numbered. We Telmarines are not. They are a simple people, stranded on their own island, with more horses than people. If ever we needed to seige, we would do so like a cat to a fly!"

Steiphen grew more defiant. Why did the king like him even when he rebuked him so? "But you must be aware, sir, that they have allies—"It was at that moment that Miraz decided to walk in. Both men looked at him, Steiphen with a penetrating glare, Caspian with a look of mild surprise.

"Miraz," the king greeted him.

Steiphen bowed his head a little. "Your highness."

The king turned to the young commander gravely. "We will continue this discussion later, Steiphen, I assure you." Miraz could tell that there was still cold feelings between the two superpowers especially after that conversation.

"Aye, your majesty." Steiphen said rather harshly. "Fare thee well." He fled hurriedly, brushing past Miraz and barely acknowledging him as he exited, tugging on the collar of his leather coif.

There was an awkward moment of silence after Steiphen left. Miraz broke it by saying:

"You wanted to see me, father?"

"—yes." The king almost blurted out his reply. "But first I must tell you that it has nothing to do with what has happened earlier this day."

Miraz looked down at his shifting feet to hide his sigh of relief, waiting for his father to continue.

He did, after some time. "Steiphen, our…_good_ commander, plans to campaign in the mountains in two years or less. He will be gone until then recruiting knights and scouting. You will be two and ten by the time he returns to start the campaign, Miraz."

Miraz gave him a quizzical glance.

Caspian didn't notice it. He was too busy pacing. "That will be the year that you will become a squire, Miraz! Your coming of age, if you will. Now, Steiphen has seen you in the courtyard, drilling with the pages."

"Actually, he's our overwa—"

"Of course, of course. He has a peaked interest in you. He wants you to be his squire."

"But—"

"Think of it as a privilege, Miraz. Steiphen is known for his skill with a blade. Imagine what skill he will pass down to you! You will learn much under him, even learn to be a gentleman, perhaps. You will be disciplined, and grow up to be more respectable, like your brother."

There it was again. _Like your brother_. _Of course, he found someway to tell me that I was a humiliation, telling me to become 'respectable'!_ Caspian the Ninth was everything _but_ a gentleman. Disciplined? A _privilege_? Miraz heard that Steiphen would violently drill his squire all through daylight and then beat him afterward. Miraz loathed the day he would have to serve Sir Steiphen. He hated even to be watched by him as he drilled in the courtyard.

The last thing he wanted to be was his _squire_!

**TO BE CONTINUED **


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, for all of said realm belongs to the wonderful author C.S. Lewis. Additional characters never once mentioned in his books belong to I, the author of this lowly fanfiction piece. **

**Author's Note: Here is Chapter Three, very logically entitled, "The Encounter". Short, short chapter, perhaps a bit of a turning point. You will actually really get a sense of who Caspian the Ninth is in this chapter and how he and Miraz are quite different. Not a very eventful chapter, I'm afraid. But keep hanging in there! More familiar characters will pop in within the next few chapters. So, enjoy and please review!**

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~Chapter Three: Encounter~

"I—I am obliged, father. Truly." Miraz tried to hide his anger and surprise by using a rather twisted face, trying to be serious and understanding, but unsure as to whether his father believed him or not.

The king peered at him quizzically. "Miraz? Are you ill, son? You look…rather pale." He knew it. His father knew he was hiding something. Though he hated his father, he knew he was wise, and could tell when Miraz hid something.

Miraz swallowed hard, trying to find a way to rose his cheeks. His poker face shattered. He felt pale: even his hands were white. "I am fine, father." He swallowed again. "Really."

The king gave a smile that was about as good as Miraz's poker face, his stiff lips not used to grinning. All of his poor attempts were shallow and empty, with no heart in them. This one was no better.

"I am glad." He said with such dryness that Miraz knew that he was not glad. He began his pacing again in front of the prince, watching his feet peek out of his robe at each whisk of a step. Miraz knew this simple motion to signal something. His father was becoming casual, social - he wanted to talk to Miraz.

"I must remind you that there will be a banquet celebrating the knighting of a young squire next week. I expect you to be present and on time, if you want to be respected, that is. Remember what I said about your superiority."

_More like your superiority_. Miraz's mind stated. But his mouth said, "I will be present and on time, I assure you."

"Good." The king said. He attempted another weak smile. "Well, then, you may be excused to your quarters."

Out in the hall, it was the same as it was before: the occasional hurrying knight or milling nobleman with a high brow. He tried walking tall and straight again to impress them, as he had done before. But he now found out, after that awkward session with his father, he was doing what the king wanted him to do: show off. Boast, be like his brother. Miraz slouched and tucked his thumbs into his belt, covering his gold mount.

"Well, how was your little conversation with father, then, _Miraz_?" A sniggering voice inquired.

_Caspian._

The yellow-haired, fair-faced adolescent stepped out of the shadows, a satisfied smirk on his face. He stood over Miraz with a haughty air of pride, and looked his brother up and down, as if expecting to find more bruises of dirt on his tunic sleeves. After not finding any scratch, dent, or hole, he snorted sarcastically, glaring at Miraz's undignified posture.

"You bear yourself in a very dignified manner, don't you?" He compared Miraz's slouch with his high-backed bearing and superior stature. Miraz glared and surreptitiously slid his hands behind his back and stood straighter.

"What business have you here, Caspian?" Miraz asked coolly, staring straight ahead.

Caspian shrugged. "Oh, I was just—at the right place at the right time, I suppose."

Miraz stifled a snort in a cough.

"Caught a sniffle, then?"

"I suppose."

Caspian paced around him. _He's inherited something from father already_. Miraz thought icily. "Well, then." Caspian said officially. "I have business elsewhere. Farewell, Miraz." He left rather quickly.

_Business elsewhere. Pah!_ Miraz noticed that he was still standing straight. _It's strange. I try to find favor in the eyes of my brother, and yet I want to disobey my father._

_Do I regard my brother over my father?_

**TO, ONCE AGAIN, BE CONTINUED**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, nor do I own any other of C.S. Lewis's fine creations. **

**Author's Note: Here it is, Chapter Four, masterfully entitled "The Banquet". Perhaps a bit longer and more eventful than past chapters. You shall once again meet a new character, officially meet Queen Anea, and get to know Steiphen a little more. Still not action-y, I know, but the time will come! Suspense is building. All right, enough talking. Enjoy! **

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~Chapter Four: The Banquet~

The banquet on the following Wednesday was nothing to behold for young Miraz. He had been to dozens of others before, and knew what the whole idea of a banquet was: not eating, but dodging. Dipping and diving your way around long-legged lords and boisterous barons and laughing ladies was nearly the whole banquet experience, especially when you were as small as Miraz. It became quite tedious after awhile because in a sea of noblemen and women, you can never find the table until the dinner bell rings.

So Miraz milled his way around the monarchs, blending in with the colorful tunics, for he donned a navy shirt with a laced collar. The many guests were mingling, socializing loudly and of course, laughing. The jester playing the hornpipe in the corner could barely be heard, though Miraz did hear a few shrill notes from a nearby piccolo.

"Pardon me. Excuse me, madam. Oh, sorry, sir!" Miraz squeezed through the crowd, offering an apology whenever he elbowed a lord or trotted on a maiden's silk train. He kept his head down, so no one could see that it was Prince Miraz, and to avoid anyone noticing his healing scars.

He finally spotted his father and Caspian, standing by the great oak table that Miraz had struggled to find. The two stood side-by-side, Caspian pridefully showing off a bronze circlet on his golden head. His father was garbed in a thick red robe with gold embroidery down the collar, trellising with intricate, flowery designs. _Fops, the pair of them, _Miraz thought.

Miraz's mother, Anea, stood by them as well, a pale hand resting on Caspian's shoulder, her nearly-translucent eyes scanning the crowds. She was referred to by many as a tapestry angel: silent and beautiful. The former Baroness of a small establishment in the mountains, the Western beauty was courted a dozen times before marrying the Telmarine Prince of Narnia, Caspian the Eighth. In her silence, she had never told a soul if she had married for riches or for love, but she seemed content in her life as a queen.

But presently the infamous youth Sir Steiphen approached the king, first acknowledging Anea politely and then kneeling before King Caspian, kissing the monarch's ring. The army commander stuck out like a peasant among princes in his plain attire. A man of military and not of substance, Steiphen was not wearing the frippery of a gaudy nobleman, only traditional Telmarine chain mail.

"Your good majesty," he spoke after but a short pause, "it is my honor to introduce to you Lady Elizabeth."

And suddenly appearing behind Steiphen was a small, delicate figure, slim and short, swathed to the neck in ruby velvet. She had a porcelain face that was powdered so as to make her look like a clean piece of linen. Two of the bluest eyes Miraz had ever seen peeked out from intricate brows and hovered over an up-turned, aristocratic nose. Strawberry-blond hair was tied back in a neat braid, not a thread of the glistening locks out of place. She was no different from the lot of them - a proud, arrogant aristocrat.

She bowed regally and rather tom boyishly, for ladies, if they suited themselves as dignified, would curtsy and leave bowing for the men. But her high chin showed that she was indeed superior.

"Your majesty." Her voice was clear and crystalline: Miraz also sensed some ice in it. She glanced briefly at him and he cast his eyes downward.

"I am obliged to make your acquaintance, Lady Elizabeth." The king smiled.

She lifted her hand to cough. Miraz noticed a ropey scar looped around her pale right hand, large and grotesque against such papery skin. The strange scar went unnoticed by the king.

Elizabeth returned the smile thinly. "As am I, your majesty." She slipped her scarred arm through the crook of Sir Steiphen's elbow. They strolled away, murmuring curtly to one another.

Miraz watched the pair dissolve into the crowd. They are very much alike, he thought. Both are mysterious, and of noble blood, though she seems to bear herself more regally than he. The prince snorted inwardly. A happy couple to be sure, if ever they were to marry.

He then noticed an object, so small but so powerful to the eye, so shocking to behold.

On the pale left ring finger of the fair young Elizabeth was a simple band of gold, thin as a reed straw but easy to spot against her white hand. A simple sign that she and Sir Steiphen were betrothed and would soon probably be wed.

The banquet lasted another two hours, including the feast itself and a good bit of hornpipe-music, ballad-singing, and dancing. It was menial for Miraz, but for all of the lords it was as if they had never been to one. Elizabeth did not seem so energetic, and Miraz guessed, in her being so aristocratic, that she had been to plenty. She was always hovering in the shadow of Steiphen and often talked to him, but at one point during a hornpipe-and-lute ballad, she milled about alone, figure-eighting round the pillars and remaining solitary.

"My good Prince Miraz." Said a young voice behind the Prince. Miraz turned to see Steiphen standing there, hands behind his back and chin high—Miraz was rather reminded of Elizabeth (or did Elizabeth remind him of Steiphen?).

"Commander." Miraz said simply, looking up at the tall Commander.

"Your father told you the news, I wager?"

Miraz nodded.

"Have you an opinion of it?"

Miraz was stricken. Yes, he very well _did _have an opinion. He did not want to be squired to Steiphen and live as his shadow until his next coming of age, in at least ten years.

"I—"

"Your father informed me that you were very much obliged." Steiphen's eyes almost became threatening. "Am I right in believing this?"

Miraz briefly clenched his teeth within his lips, avoiding the intent gaze of the commander. Finally, he said coolly, "Yes, I did tell my father that I was very much obliged, sir."

"And is that the truth?"

"—yes."

Steiphen nodded. "Good. You will become a fine knight." He left swiftly and awkwardly, as if in search of Elizabeth.

_Braggart_, Miraz thought impudently as he left.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia or its characters that I am using. All belong to the great, creative mind of its author, C.S. Lewis, who belongs to the great Author. Characters such as Anea and Vostad have I created from my own imagination to entertain the reader. **

**Author's Note: Chapter Six! Dun, dun, dun! This chapter prods at Miraz's change of heart from the last chapter. This really shows you what kind of person his mother is too. Enjoy! Read and review!**

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~Chapter Six: Family Bond~

It was the night before he would leave.

He paced the premise of his chamber slowly, his palms sweating, thinking of the world that lay ahead. He'd never been a yard out of the castle without his parents by him. The candles flickered on his troubled face. _Oh, I wish Dr. Cornelius were here_, Miraz thought. _He would know what to do_. He thought Nurse would know as well, and felt a wave of loss come over him.

He kept on thinking about what he had thought during the reading of Vostad. It had seemed like a boyish fantasy at the moment, but since then, it had grown horribly, until it had occupied all of his thoughts somehow and nearly devoured his mind. He had dreamt of it. He knew something had to be done, but did that really mean killing his brother? Yes, it did, something inside Miraz said, but at the same time, a small, timid voice said, no. There are other ways to right a wrong without bloodshed.

Right?

Someone knocked.

"Come in." Miraz looked at the door, watching as the short little professor Cornelius entered. Miraz could've exploded with joy. But the troubled look on Cornelius's face made him grimace as well.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It's your mother, Your Highness." Cornelius murmured. Before Miraz could inquire further, the doctor added, "As you know, her health is ailing, and she feels she only has one more chance to look upon your face."

The inquiring look on the Prince's face told him that he had to give more information.

"She wants you to visit her, Your Highness!"

"Oh—" Miraz stammered awkwardly. "She is in her quarters?"

"Aye."

Miraz gave a nod and exited after Cornelius. Down the big gray stone hall again. And every time he paraded down it, it seemed that he was always walking to his doom.

It was very dark in Anea's quarters when Miraz entered. Drafty too, as if a window was open—though all of them were closed at present. Miraz shut the door quietly behind him, looking at where his mother sat, bent over and frail, in a high backed chair facing the window. A single wisp of white, almost transparent, hair fell down to brush her cheek, her solemn gray eyes staring out at some unknown marvel outside in the night. Two long, wrinkled hands gripped a beaked cane. A book was in her lap.

"Mother…?" Miraz whispered, kneeling down beside her.

Anea pointed her empty, pale eyes at him. A shallow smile spread across her face and she laid a hand on his head. "Miraz! My sweet, sweet son…going off on campaign? Oh a shame, a shame. Why, Miraz? Why put such pity on a mother's heart?"

Miraz took her hand off his head and put it in his gently. "I don't want to be a boy forever, mother. I want to be a knight—even if I may not be king."

"Oh, poor boy!" Anea lamented, her shallow eyes becoming wet. For some reason, the eyes seemed cold. "Why did you have to be the youngest? You are so gentle and humble—perhaps you would've ruled better than Caspian."

A small wave of shock washed over Miraz. Did she just say…? Did she just say that she loved Miraz better than Caspian, that she thought he was better than Caspian? If his father had heard her say that…Did that mean that if he told her about how he wanted to kill his brother, she would go along with it?

"My opportunity to rule has been thwarted, mother. I cannot be born again." Miraz confirmed, half trying to convince himself and half trying to convince his mother.

"But there is a way you could become king."

This deeply shocked Miraz, taking all the blood from his hands and face as he stared wide-eyed at his mother. He was sure she had just told him to kill Caspian. Either she was terribly, terribly sick or she'd been this way all along. Miraz didn't answer to her final sentiment.

"Why so silent, my boy? My Miraz? What's wrong?" She stroked his face. Her hands were cold and pale as well. "What ails you, my son?" Her touch made him shudder.

"Nothing." Miraz gently pushed her hands off.

Her pale eyes flashed into his again. With such strength Miraz did not think she could muster she had seized his hand as lovingly as she could with such strength. "Good." She said quietly. "I wish you luck on your campaign, my dear one!"'

"I'm sorry this is our good-bye, mother." Miraz murmured. He stood up, meeting her eyes once more, then leaving.

As Miraz was walking out into the hall, he gave a huge sigh. Anea was not the mother he knew. She had openly just told him to kill his own brother. Since when was she so loving towards one and so vengeful toward the other? Since when did she pick favorites? She was always such a kind and loving woman. Miraz was sure it was the sickness, but couldn't get the thought from his head.

"So, how's Mother?" Asked a young man's voice.

Caspian!

Now fourteen, Caspian was as condescending as ever. Still as innocent and angelic as a child, Caspian was now really thought of as prince and heir and not just prince. His handsome face was looked upon reverently whenever he passed through the village on some tall, strong warhorse, done up in gold armor and chain-mail. Beside Miraz, he was like a god amongst men. And far from humble about it.

"Caspian." Miraz uttered his name, surprised by the vehemence of his voice. He looked up to meet Caspian's smug blue eyes.

Miraz remembered that he had a knife hanging on his belt. It was dark in the hall, and Caspian didn't see him unsheathe it. But he probably could see the small trickle of sweat running down his brow.

"Miraz." Caspian's cat-like voice purred. "Are you nervous about something?" He suspected something though. He saw the movement of his hand. He knew something was about.

"No…" Miraz squeaked. His voice was audibly trembling. He clenched the dagger's hilt. The voice in him saying 'yes' was getting louder and louder, making his heart pulse harder and adrenalin rush. He became slightly dizzy.

"Are you sure? You look a bit faint."

"I'm sure." He replied in a dazed fashion.

Caspian gave him an inquisitive glance. "All right…"

"Um…Caspian?"

"Aye?"

Miraz clutched it harder, preparing to strike. The yes-voice was resounding, now, shaking the caverns of his mind and crushing the cliffs of his soul like some tidal wave of conscience. His mother's words joined in the chorus. "There is a way you can become king…there is a way you can become king…there is a way _I_ can become _king_!"

_I can become king. I can have power. I can reign over the people. I can have riches beyond reckoning. I can become king. I can fight and win wars. I can expand my kingdom. I can rule an empire. I can become king. I can become king. I can become king. All I have to do is this one horrible thing…_

"What is it, Miraz?"

Miraz let all his breath go. "Nothing, brother." He relaxed his grip on the dagger, suddenly becoming very tired. "I'm sorry. I feel rather indisposed. I think I will return to my quarters."

Caspian was still grimacing. "Very well. Farewell, brother."

"F-Farewell, Caspian."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia or its characters that I am using. All belong to the great, creative mind of its author, C.S. Lewis, who belongs to the great Author. Characters such as Anea and Vostad have I created from my own imagination to entertain the reader. **

**Author's Note: Chapter Six! Dun, dun, dun! This chapter prods at Miraz's change of heart from the last chapter. This really shows you what kind of person his mother is too. Enjoy! Read and review!**

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~Chapter Six: Family Bond~

It was the night before he would leave.

He paced the premise of his chamber slowly, his palms sweating, thinking of the world that lay ahead. He'd never been a yard out of the castle without his parents by him. The candles flickered on his troubled face. _Oh, I wish Dr. Cornelius were here_, Miraz thought. _He would know what to do_. He thought Nurse would know as well, and felt a wave of loss come over him.

He kept on thinking about what he had thought during the reading of Vostad. It had seemed like a boyish fantasy at the moment, but since then, it had grown horribly, until it had occupied all of his thoughts somehow and nearly devoured his mind. He had dreamt of it. He knew something had to be done, but did that really mean killing his brother? Yes, it did, something inside Miraz said, but at the same time, a small, timid voice said, no. There are other ways to right a wrong without bloodshed.

Right?

Someone knocked.

"Come in." Miraz looked at the door, watching as the short little professor Cornelius entered. Miraz could've exploded with joy. But the troubled look on Cornelius's face made him grimace as well.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It's your mother, Your Highness." Cornelius murmured. Before Miraz could inquire further, the doctor added, "As you know, her health is ailing, and she feels she only has one more chance to look upon your face."

The inquiring look on the Prince's face told him that he had to give more information.

"She wants you to visit her, Your Highness!"

"Oh—" Miraz stammered awkwardly. "She is in her quarters?"

"Aye."

Miraz gave a nod and exited after Cornelius. Down the big gray stone hall again. And every time he paraded down it, it seemed that he was always walking to his doom.

It was very dark in Anea's quarters when Miraz entered. Drafty too, as if a window was open—though all of them were closed at present. Miraz shut the door quietly behind him, looking at where his mother sat, bent over and frail, in a high backed chair facing the window. A single wisp of white, almost transparent, hair fell down to brush her cheek, her solemn gray eyes staring out at some unknown marvel outside in the night. Two long, wrinkled hands gripped a beaked cane. A book was in her lap.

"Mother…?" Miraz whispered, kneeling down beside her.

Anea pointed her empty, pale eyes at him. A shallow smile spread across her face and she laid a hand on his head. "Miraz! My sweet, sweet son…going off on campaign? Oh a shame, a shame. Why, Miraz? Why put such pity on a mother's heart?"

Miraz took her hand off his head and put it in his gently. "I don't want to be a boy forever, mother. I want to be a knight—even if I may not be king."

"Oh, poor boy!" Anea lamented, her shallow eyes becoming wet. For some reason, the eyes seemed cold. "Why did you have to be the youngest? You are so gentle and humble—perhaps you would've ruled better than Caspian."

A small wave of shock washed over Miraz. Did she just say…? Did she just say that she loved Miraz better than Caspian, that she thought he was better than Caspian? If his father had heard her say that…Did that mean that if he told her about how he wanted to kill his brother, she would go along with it?

"My opportunity to rule has been thwarted, mother. I cannot be born again." Miraz confirmed, half trying to convince himself and half trying to convince his mother.

"But there is a way you could become king."

This deeply shocked Miraz, taking all the blood from his hands and face as he stared wide-eyed at his mother. He was sure she had just told him to kill Caspian. Either she was terribly, terribly sick or she'd been this way all along. Miraz didn't answer to her final sentiment.

"Why so silent, my boy? My Miraz? What's wrong?" She stroked his face. Her hands were cold and pale as well. "What ails you, my son?" Her touch made him shudder.

"Nothing." Miraz gently pushed her hands off.

Her pale eyes flashed into his again. With such strength Miraz did not think she could muster she had seized his hand as lovingly as she could with such strength. "Good." She said quietly. "I wish you luck on your campaign, my dear one!"'

"I'm sorry this is our good-bye, mother." Miraz murmured. He stood up, meeting her eyes once more, then leaving.

As Miraz was walking out into the hall, he gave a huge sigh. Anea was not the mother he knew. She had openly just told him to kill his own brother. Since when was she so loving towards one and so vengeful toward the other? Since when did she pick favorites? She was always such a kind and loving woman. Miraz was sure it was the sickness, but couldn't get the thought from his head.

"So, how's Mother?" Asked a young man's voice.

Caspian!

Now fourteen, Caspian was as condescending as ever. Still as innocent and angelic as a child, Caspian was now really thought of as prince and heir and not just prince. His handsome face was looked upon reverently whenever he passed through the village on some tall, strong warhorse, done up in gold armor and chain-mail. Beside Miraz, he was like a god amongst men. And far from humble about it.

"Caspian." Miraz uttered his name, surprised by the vehemence of his voice. He looked up to meet Caspian's smug blue eyes.

Miraz remembered that he had a knife hanging on his belt. It was dark in the hall, and Caspian didn't see him unsheathe it. But he probably could see the small trickle of sweat running down his brow.

"Miraz." Caspian's cat-like voice purred. "Are you nervous about something?" He suspected something though. He saw the movement of his hand. He knew something was about.

"No…" Miraz squeaked. His voice was audibly trembling. He clenched the dagger's hilt. The voice in him saying 'yes' was getting louder and louder, making his heart pulse harder and adrenalin rush. He became slightly dizzy.

"Are you sure? You look a bit faint."

"I'm sure." He replied in a dazed fashion.

Caspian gave him an inquisitive glance. "All right…"

"Um…Caspian?"

"Aye?"

Miraz clutched it harder, preparing to strike. The yes-voice was resounding, now, shaking the caverns of his mind and crushing the cliffs of his soul like some tidal wave of conscience. His mother's words joined in the chorus. "There is a way you can become king…there is a way you can become king…there is a way _I_ can become _king_!"

_I can become king. I can have power. I can reign over the people. I can have riches beyond reckoning. I can become king. I can fight and win wars. I can expand my kingdom. I can rule an empire. I can become king. I can become king. I can become king. All I have to do is this one horrible thing…_

"What is it, Miraz?"

Miraz let all his breath go. "Nothing, brother." He relaxed his grip on the dagger, suddenly becoming very tired. "I'm sorry. I feel rather indisposed. I think I will return to my quarters."

Caspian was still grimacing. "Very well. Farewell, brother."

"F-Farewell, Caspian."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia or its characters. All of these spoken of therein belong to the beloved author, C.S. Lewis, who belongeth to the great Author Himself. **

**Author's Note: The tension strengthens! Here is chapter seven, aptly named Leaving, 'cause that's what it's all about. Short, short chapter explaining the departure of the Telmarines under Steiphen. Enjoy! Read and review.**

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~Chapter Seven: Leaving~

"Your Highness, we are waiting for you."

The young guard stood at the door. Miraz turned to face him. He wanted to spend any last spare moment he had in his chamber, thinking of Nurse, of Cornelius, even of how close he had gotten to ending the conflict between he and his brother the past night. He knew that he needed time away from the castle—time to think about what he would do about what his mother had said to him.

"Your highness?"

"Oh—I will be out soon." Miraz said dismissively, picking up his satchel. It was as heavy as his internal burdens.

The guard continued standing in the doorway. "The Commander will not be left waiting." He declared adamantly.

Miraz sighed and followed him out.

Morning light flooded the terrace. It was still the spring months, but usually it was quite rainy. The clouds on the horizon told Miraz the sun wouldn't be out for long. Steiphen awaited him on the veranda, turning his head slightly when he came ambling up, dressed in a simple white tunic, brown vest, and long cloak. A leather satchel hung at his side. He now wore a short arming-sword there, as well, for he was now a squire in the Order. Steiphen looked somewhat anxious and jittery, but cloaked it well with his usual grave expression.

"My horse is saddled and ready." Miraz informed, looking up at the Commander.

"Good." Steiphen replied brusquely. He tilted his head in a gesture to follow him. "Come."

They both walked down to the courtyard, where many other anxious knights were waiting, pulling their horses out of the stables or already mounted and awaiting further commands from their leader. The commander swung onto his mount and looked up into the sky, as if watching the clouds. Miraz mounted his own horse, throwing his satchel over the pommel. Grabbing the reins, he knew he was ready to leave the castle.

"Steiphen!"

From the terrace, Miraz looked up to see the slim, delicate form of Elizabeth running up to meet Steiphen, who was now her husband. Her bright blue eyes glittered dully in the sunlight, glistening with tears. She wore a black gown as if she were mourning the death of someone close to her—and she very well could be, especially since Steiphen was leaving to go on campaign.

Steiphen dismounted, rather confused. But he was no longer incoherent when Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a sorrow-filled kiss. Her scarred hand gripped his shoulder, stroking his coif. She let a tear fall down her face.

"I didn't want to let you leave without saying good-bye." Her cold voice whispered.

Steiphen stroked her cheek. "Good-bye, my love. I will return to you safely." He murmured.

Elizabeth watched him mount and look at the daunted faces of his men.

"All right, you lot!" He called. "Form up! It's time to leave." Elizabeth seemed to be swelling with pride. Everything was a blur to Miraz. His father was not present. Nor was his brother. But he did catch his mother's pale eyes watching him from a dark corner in the terrace, leaning on her small staff intently. Everything that was said between them last night came flooding back into his memory again—

And he noticed the knife was still at his side. He touched it. _With that knife I almost killed my brother_, he thought, scared of himself.

As they galloped out of the courtyard and into the streets, and finally into the wilderness, Miraz didn't look back. Not once.

But all the way, he felt his mother's eyes watching him.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, Miraz, or other characters invented by C.S. Lewis. All belong to said author, who belongs to the Great Author. **

**Author's Note: Chapter Eight, masterfully and docilely entitled "Steiphen's Camp". Miraz learns more about Steiphen and you learn more about the title of this story thanks to this chapter! So let's give a round of applause to our good ol' buddy Chapter Eight! Whoot! Ok, you probably opened this to read...so...go ahead. Enjoy! Read and review!**

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~Chapter Eight: Steiphen's Camp~

They came to a large gorge when evening fell and Miraz felt very far from home, but it didn't touch him too deeply—for it was home he was fleeing from. But looking into the clear sunset, shaded with gray clouds and painted with beautiful pastel colors, there was a little tinge of doubt in his heart. He almost missed seeing the face of his brother! It was what he had known for his whole twelve years, as well as his father's stern eyes, always chastising him day in and day out. It had tortured him, but now, he yearned for it. He yearned to see their faces.

But now, the stern, condescending face of Steiphen would have to suffice.

"We camp here, men!" He called to his squad, and they rested back into their saddles and brought out small tents to sleep in, drinking thirstily from their canteens and refilling them in the gorge's water. Miraz dismounted and looked around at the havoc that had formed in only a few seconds. He met Steiphen's green-eyed gaze and quickly tore away from it as soon as he'd met it. "You'll stay in my tent, Miraz." His voice was hoarse and gravelly. "I need to show you something."

Miraz nodded absentmindedly, the words of his mother still chewing on his head. It was a good thing he had more time to think and be aloof for a while, before going off to real war—Steiphen had said the barbarians were high in the mountains still, that loomed far from the gorge that their camp was being set up by. He would still have time for training, getting a decent sword, learning the tactics of war - and thinking more about his coming treachery. He knew it would rack his brain in the following years.

Steiphen's tent was a large pavilion, with a makeshift table in the center and two small pallets off to the side for Master and Servant. Steiphen set down a large satchel of documents—old and new, sealed and unsealed—onto his desk, and looked as if he was going to sit down on his high-backed chair before Miraz as he entered, but dismissed the idea and began pacing slowly and rhythmically. The documents would have to wait.

"You wanted to see me?" Miraz asked as he entered. He wasn't garbed very finely and looked rather like a peasant, for he'd unfastened his vest down the middle and untucked his tunic. His face was smudged with dirt that the horses had kicked up during their trek to the gorge. His arming-sword was still hanging on the horn of his saddle, which was on his horse outside, though his dagger was still buckled and resting on his hip.

"Yes." Steiphen said curtly, meeting Miraz's gaze again. Miraz tore away again. To Miraz, Steiphen was merely an interference, something that would keep him away from his thoughts and nag him like the hound he was. He wouldn't grow to close to the knight - he knew it wasn't wise. He was confused with Steiphen's character, even after the many years of knowing him. Was he a gentleman, or was he a cruel man who horse-whipped his squires? Miraz could discover nothing underneath the mystery of his eyes, where Miraz often looked to discover a person.

"I want you to know that we are now Squire and Knight, and that, Miraz, is an undying bond."

_Miraz_. The prince had never heard Steiphen say his name so nonchalantly, handling it loosely like a play-thing, not even adding "sir", "lord", or "your highness" to his name. This must be _some_ undying bond.

Steiphen continued. "Because it is such, I must tell you that…we are like father and son."

This caught Miraz by stark, stark surprise. Father and son? Really? It was _that_ important of a bond? Miraz hoped his paleness wasn't visible to the young Commander, who seemed slightly unnerved himself. He put his hands behind his back and continued pacing awkwardly. He didn't flash his frightening gaze for some while. He was deep in thought as well, though his thoughts were occupied by the matters at hand, not like the wandering, aimless mind of the child standing before him.

"But I must tell you of betrayal, as well."

This shook Miraz's nerves even more. _The very matter his conscience had been battling over! _What did Steiphen know about betrayal? A little thought rocked Miraz into sheer terror—did Steiphen somehow overhear what his mother had said to him? Did he know of Miraz's whole plot? His eyes were rather suspicious.

"It can happen. I have seen it happen many times, everywhere, to any knight - be it soldier or sergeant. It is quite prominent between Master and Squire. A rash, ambitious squire…or an air-headed master, too full of himself…but usually…it always points to the squire."

Steiphen caught Miraz's gaze sharply again, and this time Miraz felt like he couldn't rip away from it. It was so deep, so sorrowful, so filled with a haunting past that Miraz knew was going to unfold within the hour. It was a side Miraz had never seen in Steiphen - a side of sadness, grief, almost compassion and hope that Miraz wouldn't betray him. But somehow, in some way, those stony eyes told him _yes,_ he would.

"I was once betrayed, Miraz, by my squire. Only five years ago, when you were but a page of eight years old. His name was Garius. Do not take me for a fool, for I was proud of him—he was patient, good with a blade, a model squire any inferior should—should have—looked up to. But he was quite envious of my position, I could tell—how, I do not know, but I could. But one night—"

Steiphen undid the leather ties of his coif for the first time before Miraz, pulling it off to expose his bare neck. From his left ear all the way to his upper right shoulder blade, was the most grotesque, ropey scar Miraz had ever seen, as if it was a stripe left there by a bullwhip. Tears welled in Steiphen's eyes as he remembered the sad day, feeling the long, smooth scar that traveled across his neck.

"One night he tried to kill me. While I was sleeping, he took a dagger to my throat and made his attempt, but his cut was too shallow. I lived. He was hanged for treason only days afterward. If anyone should feel like a traitor now—it should be me. I shouldn't have let them kill him. Prison would've dealt with him—but hanging, far be it from me to have let him hang upon my will!"

Miraz was silent. He didn't know what to say. He'd never even thought of attempting to kill Steiphen, though his thoughts toward him weren't sunny, necessarily—he'd never try to bring him to his grave. But perhaps Steiphen wasn't only talking about Squire betraying Master—but Brother betraying Brother. Was it the betrayed that was the traitor? Or the traitor himself? Or both? Miraz knew the answer: How could the betrayed be the traitor? The traitor was always the one who was the traitor.

So Miraz, though he had not done a thing to his brother yet, knew he was not a brother to Caspian, but a brother to betrayal. As was Vostad. As was Garius. Vostad killed his brother and welcomed his betrayal. Garius did his deed willingly, Miraz knew. And Miraz knew as well...he loved betrayal more than he loved his brother.

All of them—Vostad, Miraz, Garius—were brothers to betrayal.

They were Brothers of Betrayal.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. 'Nuff said. **

**Author's Note: Short chapter that makes ends meet, rather a "a-lot-of-time-is-passing-for-the-characters-but-the-reader-only-sees-it-as-a-page" chapter. Enjoy! Read and review! **

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~Chapter Nine: War~

Screaming of innocents. Ruling of tyrants. Clashing of swords. Cries for help.

Blood of soldiers.

_They fight in the mountains, battling the vicious barbarians that come crashing down upon them from the cliffs, swinging axes and flashing malice at anyone who dared approach them. Many died by their axeblades throughout that long, eight year war. Miraz did not. He remained with the living, but had to watch many people he had drawn close to die. Life and sanity were taken from him as he watched people around him fall. _

_"Don't look back, Miraz." Steiphen ordered him. "Don't look back. Don't look back." _

_Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back. His thoughts shifted. They always did. They grew over the years. They were what drove him. Those horrible, wonderful thoughts for his future. They had overtaken his core, and captured his being, captured it and held fast to it. They were what made his blood run. They were what he lived for, those heroic thoughts.  
_

_There is a way to become king. _

_Suddenly the thought came into his mind. He thought of his mother often, especially of what words she had said to him. His thoughts also lingered on Steiphen's scar, on Vostad, and on Garius. The Brothers of Betrayal. He was now one of them, because he knew what he was going to do. _

_He was going to betray his brother. _

_But little did he know that he would be betraying the whole kingdom._

_'My son, how I miss you! I never told you how much I loved you. I was not a good mother to you. Every time I looked to the west, to the mountains and to the sun peeking up behind it, I thought of you, marching into battle in the front lines, wearing a great crown and brandishing a great and glorious sword as silver trumpets played behind you. I think of you. I remember you. And I hope you remember me.' _

_With these last words, Anea died. _

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	11. Chapter 10

~Chapter Ten: Return~

_My Good Majesty, _

_I return to you your son, Prince Miraz. He is a great fighter now, a man of nineteen years, and a knight as well. You need him at the kingdom more than I need him here. The battle is coming to an end, but the attacks of the barbarians are still eminent and their forces will soon threaten the empire. Your son will come before the fourth month of summer, after the fifth of spring. You must take pride in him. He has been diligent, patient, loyal, and battle-hardened these past seven years. I see a bright future for him. He will not be like the Squire before him. _

_Your Humblest of Servants, _

_Commander Steiphen _

Night had fallen. Rain pelted the mud of the market street as a straight-backed rider astride a tall black horse marched down the center of the street. Thunder crackled in the distance as peasants running home caught the dark, vicious eyes under the hood of the rider. He is no simple commoner, they thought as they saw his large, long broadsword hanging from the pommel of his saddle, and the velvet of his dark tunic. He handled his horse purposefully, riding toward the castle.

The guards stopped him at the gate to the courtyard. "Oi, you there!" One of them, the older of the two, wielding a halberd, called to him. "State your business, man!"

"Let me through!" The man demanded in a deep voice.

"State your business first." Said the other soldier, shaking a little. He knew that this was not the one to trifle with.

"I need to see the king. Now let me through!" The man boomed. "I'm here on strict business."

"What sort of business do you mean to discuss with the king, then?"

"Business concerning the Campaign. The rest is strictly for the king's ears."

"I don't know—"

"Which of you wants to hang first?! Let me though!"

The older soldier bowed his head shakily and quickly used the lever to open the portcullis. "Aye, sir." He muttered indefinitely. The now angered rider entered into the courtyard. Had the soldier not opened the gate—he had a dagger on his belt he would've been more than happy to use. He dismounted and tied his horse's bridle to a post. He was home.

_It's been too long_, Miraz thought as he looked up at the dark walls of the castle, only some of its windows shedding light. The terrace was dark, though he did see one pale face in the darkness, and it was facing him. He squinted beneath his hood, peering at the face. He strode up the stairs to the terrace and walked toward the figure that stood by the pillars, looking out under the awning that shielded her from the driving rain.

As Miraz approached, he saw that it was Elizabeth.

She pointed her bright, aristocratically emotionless eyes at him, watching him approach her. By the look on her face, he knew that she didn't know who he was yet. After all, he wore a hood over his face, and towered over her now—her head barely reached his shoulder. But she was more beautiful than ever, in her own frightening sort of way, for she was still pale and slightly gaunt, swathed in that black velvet gown he had seen her in the day he left. But she still wore her ring, he saw now, and the scar around her right hand was still recognizable, no more faded than it had been.

Elizabeth bowed her head to him. "My good knight. You are the returned campaigner we have been awaiting, I trust?" She said huskily, in a shaky voice, as if she'd been crying. Miraz nodded, probably unnoticed by her under his hood.

"Aye, I am he. Has word gotten round so quickly?" Miraz inquired.

It was Elizabeth who nodded now. "Yes. Almost the whole kingdom knows. You are the first to return. Desperate mothers await their sons; they think now the Commander will send home more after you—though I don't even know if the Commander is—"

"Alive?"

Elizabeth nodded again, her eyes tightening like tears were going to start falling down her ashen face. "If you can tell me—"

Miraz walked up to her until he was almost looking straight down into her watery eyes. She grimaced a little. "Don't you know who I am?" He murmured.

Her grimace hardened and she shook her head slowly. "No, I do not…"

He took off his hood. Though he'd grown up quite a bit, his face was still familiar to her, but his once curly hair was now straight and mature, not so boyish and unruly. His eyes were darker and harder than before, and Elizabeth wondered how he could've changed so much, for she did not know of the plot that had chewed at him for the past years after his departure.

"Miraz…?" She breathed. She didn't waste any more time. She needed to know. "Steiphen? He's alive? Oh, please, tell me that he is and do not lie! Please!"

"He is alive." Miraz replied curtly. Elizabeth breathed out a relieved-but-still-shaky sigh. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Lady Elizabeth, I have unfinished business I must take care of."

Miraz made his way down the familiar hall. It was more silent than usual, unlike the days that he'd patrol them as a boy, walking with that condescending air that made everyone look back at him. He rebuked himself for ever trying to be so air-headed and pompous. What was he thinking? He certainly wasn't thinking about any of it right now. He'd nearly forgotten that embarrassing moment—in fact, his whole young life had been thwarted and blurred by his plot to gain power. All of the merriment and pleasure he'd ever experienced was long gone. All because of _Caspian_.

He knew his way to his father's quarters. Even through all of his struggles it was still embedded in his memory from so many trips there, be it from dodging carts in the street as he'd done when he was nine, or some other "dangerous" exploit of his childhood—or even from the night that he'd found out he'd be the appalled Commander's squire.

The thought of Steiphen entered his mind as well. War had changed him, too, Miraz noticed. He was more intolerant than ever—during one of the final days with Steiphen he'd seen four men get lashed across the back for stealing victuals, one man branded for disobeying orders, and another he had hanged for thoughts of treason. Miraz had realized that he was thinking of treason as well, so it could've been him that had been hanged. But it wasn't. It was another.

He approached the entrance to his father's quarters. No more chirping of that despicably huge bird. It must've died while Miraz was away. _Good riddance_, Miraz thought to himself. But Miraz heard the shuffling of papers and knew his father was in there. He expected him to have more wrinkles than before, and whiter strands of hair.

He walked in. His father did not look up.

His father—he was actually surprised. There were a few extra wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead, but not much more than when Miraz had left. His father's hair was still gray, with maybe a few threads of white here and there that passed by Miraz unnoticed. He was still as kingly-looking as ever: a broad-shouldered build, a sword at his side, and wise gray eyes told the prince that it was still the father he knew.

But something did strike him as different. King Caspian did not seem as powerful to Miraz as he had when the prince was a boy. He was slightly bent with age, his back hunched minutely. As a boy, Miraz found his father a striding, powerful figure that could move mountains and shake the earth with his voice—being the perfect model for a king. But now he seemed only like a cripple compared to the figure he once was. Vulnerable, even—a simple old man. But Miraz didn't let this daunt him severely.

He strode up to his father. He was a good five inches taller than him, now, though his father stood over many. His father still didn't look up, but Miraz knew that his father knew of his presence, for he waved a hand dismissively.

"I needn't anymore havoc from a young knight, sir." He said, his voice croaking and dry. "I have enough trouble as it is." He tossed a piece of parchment onto a large pile on his desk. He met the eyes of Miraz, who was hoping that as soon as he did, he'd recognize the young man. But the obliviousness was still in his eyes as he looked up at him. "So…you are dismissed, sir."

"I—" Miraz began, but he stopped himself. He decided to murmur only a single word:

"Father."

The king stopped any movement. He stared into oblivion of a moment, as if trying to analyze the voice. He finally turned slowly to meet the prince's eyes again. Now he recognized him. His mouth dropped open and he gingerly approached him until their faces were only inches apart. He laid a strong, heavy hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed it.

He smiled. At his son. Miraz. It wasn't crooked. It wasn't awkward. It was natural, and it was filled with sheer joy, sheer happiness. "My son!" He whispered. "My son!"

And for a moment, a brief passing moment, Miraz smiled too. It was small, but boasted the same thing his father's did. And for a moment real, satisfying happiness flooded through him, and a sense of belonging put a hand on his father's shoulder. It felt that he had just met his father, but at the same time it felt like he'd known him for an eternity. Whatever the feeling, it felt good.

But then Caspian entered and every cold thought Miraz had ever thought of about him and his father had come rushing back in. The hand slid off his shoulder and two eyes looked over it at the prince-to-be-king who had just entered loudly and boisterously, slamming the door carelessly behind him. Miraz didn't turn around: he kept his back to his brother, feeling the knife at his side.

"Another pact has come from Terabinthia, father. Did you wish to sign it? Or are you still listening to Steiphen?" Caspian's loud—barely changed in Miraz's ears—voice echoed through the room. Miraz heard his footsteps stop abruptly. "Who's this?"

Miraz turned slowly to face his brother. He had not changed much either. His round, childish face was gone, though, shedded off to reveal the stern face of a future king. His eyes were still full of trickery and condescend, though. He hadn't grown much over the years, so he was probably still just a few inches shy of his father's height. And by the looks of it, he didn't recognize Miraz at first either.

"Who's this?" He repeated the question.

Miraz was glad to feel the hand of his father at his shoulder. "Caspian, do you not recognize the face of your brother, Miraz?"

Caspian didn't show the same surprise his father had. Instead he showed disdain. His eyebrow went up a little. "What's he doing back?" He talked as if Miraz wasn't even present.

"I was sent back by Sir Steiphen. I am a knight, now." Miraz said boastfully.

Caspian strode up to Miraz, who crossed his arms and stared down at his older brother. Caspian had to tilt his head up slightly to meet his eyes awkwardly, but he was not intimidated. "Really? A knight?" He raised his voice. "Well, I am to become king, if you didn't know!"

"Oh, really?" Miraz said sarcastically, in the same cold murmur he'd used before. "I had not been informed."

"I would've thought you'd be more hurt by that statement, Miraz." Caspian's voice immediately lowered angrily. "You've changed some. Not for the better, though, I deem."

Miraz clenched a fist. He'd only been back for under a quarter of an hour and all ready his brother was trying his patience. Miraz was taller than him now, they all knew, but what they didn't know was that he matched his brother's strength as well.

"Mother's dead, did you know?" Caspian said almost casually.

"Aye." Miraz replied huskily.

"And you weren't there to hear her final request."

"What was it?"

"For you to become king."

"Really?"

"Well, she was very sick, Miraz."

Miraz's jaw tightened. Now he was _really _testing his patience! Caspian had said it with such ease and so gravely it made Miraz angry. His older brother was rash, all too rash!

"Insult me to my face, will you?" Miraz muttered.

The king cut in. "Settle down, settle down!" The brothers turned to face their father. "Miraz, you must be tired. Retire to your quarters and there repose. Caspian, I'll speak to you about the Terabinthian pact."

"Father—"

"Good night, Miraz!" The king said firmly. Giving his brother a cold look, Miraz walked out, hand still on his dagger.

_Someday, someday very soon…_the Brother of Betrayal thought as he closed the door behind him.


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. 'Nuff said. **

**Author's Note: Moving right along, here we come to Chapter Eleven, and its masterfully created title, "The Commander Returns". It might start out a little slow--this isn't one of my best chapters. Enjoy! Read and Review!**

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~Chapter 11: The Commander Returns~

Miraz's chamber was dark when he entered, so he ordered a servant to light the candles that were fastened to the walls by sconces. His chamber had a cold feeling, a feeling of being empty for seven years. He then told the servant to leave him alone and had his thoughts to himself. He heard the rumbling voices of a group of lords talking outside the entrance. It was common to hear such things what with the huge gap at the base of his door.

He changed into a sleeping tunic and laid down on his bed, breathing in a deep sigh. It still smelled like fresh cotton, as it always had. It was sheer pleasure to fall into a down pallet after sleeping on the ground for seven years. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply again, drifting into sleep. But thinking of the Campaign, and of his plot—he found it hard to find real sleep, no matter how tired he was.

He wondered if Sir Steiphen would return soon. The barbarians were being violently pushed back into the mountain, for Steiphen was fierce and adamant on stopping their forces completely. He had led legions upon legions of Telmarines into narrow, craggy passes through the dark, tall mountains to lay siege on a barbarian fortress, no matter how small.

"You will be thrown atop your enemy, if need be." He remembered Steiphen yelling to his troops once as they stood ready to fight the oncoming forces, his fierce, fiery eyes flashing through the ranks.

Many, including Miraz, were bloodied countless times. Miraz remembered one time when Steiphen had taken a young barbarian boy captive and had some soldiers beat him till he lay still, and then returned him to the camp. He had heard the boy's cries and the merciless sting of the whip. Miraz had watched them drag the limp body away through the camp, Steiphen coming behind them with the whip in his hand.

Steiphen was becoming fiercer and more battle-hardened, to be sure—and his grave face had gotten stonier by the day. Miraz could barely look into his eyes anymore, they were so cold and unwelcoming, even to him. He remembered how he could never meet his eyes before, when he'd just become his squire, but now they penetrated his soul even deeper, as if they knew of his plan to kill his brother, knew every crag and crevice of his darkened heart.

Did Steiphen know? He'd always felt that edge of suspicion in Steiphen's gaze. Ever since that frightening night that he had learned of the Commander's dark past, the Commander's eyes had been even more wary of Miraz than before. Thinking about the matter deeply, he hoped Steiphen would not return for a long time. He wouldn't even care were the Commander to die by the barbarian blade.

He jerked up when he heard the door open, his eyes bolting open, surprised at how close to sleep he had been. He saw a wrinkled face at the door peeking in over horn-rimmed glasses.

"Doctor Cornelius." Miraz mumbled, still rather out of sorts. He sat up fully on the edge of his bed. Cornelius squinted at him.

"Your Highness?" He entered, more bent and old than Miraz remembered. His intent, knowing blue eyes studied him. He finally grinned, laughing, and put a hand on his shoulder. Miraz looked down at his hands and not at his former tutor. He had not seen his teacher since he had decided once and for all to kill his brother, and felt guilt in the eyes of the learned man. Like Steiphen, he knew Cornelius could look at him and know what he was thinking.

"What ails you, Miraz?" Cornelius asked, concerned.

Miraz shook his head. "Nothing, sir." He murmured. "I've just—"

"What?"

"I've been gone so long."

Cornelius sat down beside him. "You have. You have." He said quietly. Miraz finally met his eyes. The ones Cornelius had known were bright and boyish, but the dark eyes that he looked into now were deep and mysterious, complex and confused, but still ambitious.

"What ever possessed my father to send me on Campaign?"

Morning came, rainy and cold like the last. If he had been a young boy, Miraz would've been patrolling the streets on that Market Day, dodging the carts that clattered down the muddy roads and watching the peasants buy foreign goods from merchants of many ethnicities. But now, Miraz was leaning his back against a terrace pillar, watching the activity in the courtyard. A few stable boys were saddling horses for lords traveling out to the backcountry that day, but other than that, the rainy courtyard was empty from any castle activity. Everyone wanted to stay within the walls of the torch-lit castle.

"Your Highness." A sharp voice said beside him. Miraz looked down to meet the eyes of the curtsying Elizabeth. Her gaze was anxious, for some reason, and her scarred hand was fingering the small gold band around her left ring finger. The leather cloak she wore around her red velvet was very stark attire compared to her powdered skin.

"Lady Elizabeth." Miraz nodded his head to her slightly.

"Have you heard the news?"

"News?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Aye." She replied quickly. "Steiphen is returning today, Your Highness."

Oh no. The exact thing Miraz didn't want to have happen! _The first thing he'll do is hang a peasant, I'll reckon,_ Miraz thought impishly.

He tried to hide his despair from the pale lady Elizabeth. "Steiphen? Really? He seemed rather preoccupied when last I saw him."

But who was to enter through the portcullis but Sir Steiphen himself!

His eyes were bright and wide with hate and his jaw clenched malevolently. He gripped the reins of his fidgeting horse with white knuckles. Miraz knew the horse had reason to be nervous.

He wasn't as changed as Miraz was—only slightly older-looking than before, but a shadow was cast across his face nonetheless. His brow arched downward in a sloping glare. He wore a brigandine and a black tunic beneath it, the garb of a Telmarine soldier. A few officials surrounded him on horseback as well, awaiting orders. Miraz heard Elizabeth gasp at his side. He knew that she wanted to run down to him, but he also knew that that was the wrong thing to do at that moment—Steiphen looked fierce and sadistic, like he was ready to strangle someone. Miraz was surprised himself when he put a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. The lady was shaking.

"Wait." He said curtly. He slid into a shadow so he couldn't catch the eyes of Steiphen, but he listened to what the Commander said.

"Drop her." The knight stated to one of his officials. A sackcloth bundle that Miraz had not noticed before was dropped violently from the saddle of the official, and whatever was within the sackcloth was writhing and screaming. Steiphen dismounted and took out a dagger, cutting open the sackcloth—

To reveal the dirty face of a human. Miraz saw it to be a girl with large dark eyes and long black hair that was tangled and muddy. She wore a dress that used to be white and her hands were fastened tightly behind her back. Steiphen yanked her up to her feet and called to a stable boy. The stable boy approached quickly.

"Tie her up in the stables." Steiphen growled. The servant was bold enough to protest.

"But sir, she only be a girl! Can you not show her any pity?" He said, strength in his voice.

Steiphen grabbed him by his collar violently.

"Follow my orders, you incompetent fool!" He yelled. "Put _her_ in the stables or I'll put a noose round _your_ neck! You hear?"

The stable boy was shaking so hard he couldn't nod. He turned around to bring her to the stall, and Miraz saw his face, the dark, intense eyes - it was Glozelle, once the whipping boy. Glozelle saw him and his eyes widened, staring at him for a long time and recalling everything that had ever passed between them.

"Go, you _fool_!" Glozelle ripped away from the stare and hurried toward the stables.

Miraz turned to Elizabeth. The whiteness of her skin had become an unearthly ashen, and her bright eyes were wide with disbelief. She wrapped her cloak around her as if she were suddenly cold. Her mouth hung open unspeaking.

"I—I—"

"War changes people, Lady Elizabeth. I thought it best not to tell you." Miraz said quietly to her.

Elizabeth shook her head, denying that the man who'd just threatened an innocent stable boy was her husband Sir Steiphen. "He's—he's—he's become a _beast_!" She whispered harshly. "I'm sorry, Sir Miraz, but I'm feeling faint all of the sudden. I must lie down. Do not tell Steiphen where I am, please, I beg you, do not!" And though she was seemingly faint, she ran across the terrace and disappeared around the corner.

Steiphen was now coming up the stairs to the terrace and stopped to see Miraz nearby.

"Miraz." The prince hated how Steiphen handled the young man's name so carelessly now, as if they were close friends—which they were far from. Miraz nodded to him, but didn't speak. "Where's Elizabeth?"

Miraz shrugged. "I haven't seen her since I returned." He said, hoping his tone was believable and his facial expression wouldn't betray his lie.

Steiphen didn't look at all troubled. "She can't be far." He left without acknowledging the boy further.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia under any circumstances. 'Nuff said. **

**Author's Note: Chapter Twelve! Rather long chapter. Unlike other fanfic writers who have portrayed the relationship between Miraz and Prunaprismia, I have a different take on their love. Enjoy!**

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~Chapter 12: Prunaprismia~

Night fell like a heavy velvet veil over the kingdom, and any activity in the courtyard ceased and the castle became silent, as did the village around it. Only the hounds fighting in the street could be heard echoing off the alleyways. The rainy nights of spring had passed over, but gloom remained, especially upon the Prince's return.

Perhaps there wasn't any activity in the courtyard, but in the stables, a shadow moved past the stalls, each footstep barely making a sound on the straw strewn about on the ground. The sleeping horses did not know of its presence, and nor did the girl huddled up in the corner of the stable, her hands locked around her knees. Her face was hidden in her once-white dress, and her breaths were even and deep in sleep. The ropes around her wrists were still tied tightly, chafing the delicate skin that they were fastened around.

When a hand touched her shoulder, her eyes jerked open and she jumped, backing away further into her little corner. Had her wrists not been tied, she would've grabbed at the hand. She whimpered.

"Shhh…"

A dagger sawed at the gag around her mouth. She felt the cold metal brush briefly past her cheek as it worked on the rough cloth. She took in a deep breath when it fell off of her face.

"What do you want with me?" Her voice was heavily accented, like she was from a distant land, or even, the mountains.

The shadow ignored her question. "The Commander—he captured you?"

"The man with the scowl? Yes."

"From where do you come?"

"The Mountains. The scowling man calls me a _barbarian._"

The hand on her shoulder slid off and the dagger worked at her wrist ropes. "Don't make too much noise." The whisper rasped. "The stables are never heavily guarded but there's always someone about." The girl watched the dagger go back and forth, slicing each thread of rope until her hands were free. She rubbed her wrists, wincing.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded. "Yes. What are you going to do with me?"

"I'll take you to a companion of mine. You will be safe from the Commander with her, I assure you." A hand hooked under her arm and lifted her to her feet.

"What is your name?"

"Miraz."

"I am Prunaprismia."

The hand led her through the stables and past the sleeping guard outside it with such silence and stealth a cat would envy them. They walked up the stairs to the terrace overlooking the courtyard cautiously, not wanting to draw any attention. Prunaprismia went cautiously, still unsure of the mysterious rescuer and keeping as much distance between them as she could. His grip on her arm was harsh. The torches in the hall wavered as they passed, but even in the light Prunaprismia could not see the features of the man's face, only his dark hood and cloak. They came to an oak door with a large steel knocker. Miraz banged on it and the door opened.

Elizabeth's pale face, wreathed by her red hair, appeared in the doorway. She wore a subtly-colored evening gown and a surprised expression.

"Your Highness." She stated. "What's going on?"

Miraz met her eyes. They glittered in the torchlight. "I need your help. Is Steiphen here?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No. He is in council with the King. Why?"

Miraz ignored her question, in a rush. "Good." He pulled Prunaprismia forward so Elizabeth could see her. The lady briefly flashed her eyes at the prisoner and then turned her attention back to Miraz. "Do you remember the prisoner Steiphen said was to hang today?"

Elizabeth grimaced. "Why?"

"This is she. Her name is Prunaprismia. She is a barbarian prisoner."

"Since when do you care about barbarians? Only a few days ago were you fighting them."

Miraz looked warily at Prunaprismia, who looked at him fearfully when Elizabeth said this. "I do fight barbarians, but what I do not do is capture them, tie them in sackcloth, starve them, and hang them!"

"What do you want _me_ to do, then?"

Miraz explained in as much haste as he could. "I need you to hide her. She does not deserve to hang."

Disbelief and denial crossed Elizabeth's face, then she said, all too quietly, "Can you come in for a moment, please?" She stepped aside for them to enter.

Once inside Elizabeth took Prunaprismia into a small guest room within the quarters, obviously still confused at Miraz's sudden appearance and his hasty request. Miraz was agitated by her slowness and patience, imagining Steiphen barging in at any second. Elizabeth told the girl to lie down and sleep on a pallet while she and Miraz spoke. Prunaprismia lay down gratefully and fell into a deep sleep.

As soon as the door had closed silently behind her, Elizabeth turned to Miraz, trying to hide her anger by shadowing her eyes with her grimacing brow. "Whatever possessed you to come to me on this matter?" She asked, her voice low with rage.

"I have no other accomplices that can help me. My father certainly can't help me. Nor can my brother. And certainly not Steiphen." Miraz stated, trying to stay calm, though he was more easily angered than Elizabeth.

"Your Highness," Elizabeth still managed to stay polite even in her rage, "Steiphen knows what goes on within this room. He knows what goes on in the castle, what's more. It would be quite impossible to hide someone from him--anywhere."

"Even yourself?"

More confusion crossed Elizabeth's face. "_What_?" By her tone, Miraz knew that she was feigning her confusion. Even she could not be so eloquent in such circumstances.

"You were feeling faint, if I recall, today when you saw him. Where did you go when you disappeared, hm?" Miraz murmured.

Elizabeth was silenced. It was true. Though she had felt faint, it was only because of the way Steiphen had acted, oblivious that his wife was watching him. How he could beat a squire so unconsciously and mercilessly hang a young, innocent girl was too much for her delicate heart to bear.

"What do you think about him now, after what you've seen?"

"I still love him, nothing will change that." Elizabeth said shakily. "I still believe he is a good man. If he is said to be an enemy to the throne, then I may change my ways. Until then, I am adamant."

"What if I told you he hanged his own men?"

"I did not see it. And you, of all people, will not convince me."

"Really? Can a prince not be trusted by his people?"

"Your people?" Elizabeth laughed a little. "Prince or not, you will never be king."

It was Miraz's turn to be silenced. _Elizabeth and her outspoken ways_, he growled inwardly. In her eyes, it was true—Miraz was the younger of two princes and would not claim the throne. But in Miraz's eyes, the picture was different—the picture was streaked with blood.

"People _die_ for saying such things." He whispered. "And you will certainly not get away with it. If you cannot hide her, she may as well hang. And because you have said such things to a monarch—she shall hang for you. So you can live the rest of your life in guilt that you have killed another innocent." Miraz didn't think that this might apply to him as well. His brother would soon die for his sake, for his vain ambitions.

Elizabeth's expression changed from piping hot to cool ice. "I may not have to hide her."

"I demand it."

"There is another way."

"Is there?"

"You could...marry her."

_What? _Marry her—a barbarian? A girl connected by blood to the very vermin he had sworn to kill? Far be it from him to marry an enemy! How could Elizabeth think of something so vile and despicable? Or was it a blatant insult to him? "Out of the question. Completely and utterly_ out of the question_._" _The prince said firmly.

"Think about it. Dwell upon it." Elizabeth continued. "If you were to marry a barbarian girl and if somehow it became known among their people, will there not be peace if a man and woman of different peoples were bound together in marriage?"

"There is no peace with barbarians!" Miraz snarled in denial.

Elizabeth's mood changed again from smooth to bitter. "Then let the blood run forever. Let there be constant war. Let there be destitution and avarice. Let the Telmarine name be cursed!" Miraz glared at her in stony silence. "If you are so firm and adamant in your will, and if I must hide her, so be it!"

"Good." Miraz stated sharply. He turned and left, slamming the door.

When the rosy patches of dawn appeared on the horizon, Elizabeth was already awake. Her husband was nowhere to be found—he had never even returned from his council the previous night. The angry thoughts of the previous night were still in Elizabeth's head, no matter how hard she tried to knock them out. She was in far too deep. Trying to hide a barbarian prisoner in the very place that the captor lived in. Why did the Prince have to be so thick headed? A marriage would make things far easier.

A knock came at the door.

"Come in." Elizabeth grumbled groggily, slumped in a chair, her hands idly holding a knitting needle and piece of embroidery. The prince entered, ducking in through the doorway. Elizabeth gave him a brief, dismissive glance. She set her embroidery on the table and turned to face him.

"I'd like to see the prisoner, if I may, my lady." Miraz said quietly, looking at her square in the eye. She could see that the anger of last night was still eminent in his glare as well.

"You may." Elizabeth mumbled. She stood and opened the door to the guest chamber. She closed it slightly so Miraz could only hear vague murmurs within. Elizabeth reentered with the prisoner, who met the now dazzled eyes of the prince.

The girl must've been bathed after Miraz had left, for now all of the dirt was gone to reveal a gaunt-cheeked but pretty young face of a girl about seventeen years of age. Her skin was slightly darker than a Telmarine's lily-white complexion, and her hair was darker than any color Miraz had ever seen before. Her large, round eyes—even darker than her hair—were deep and mysterious, like two caverns. She was far from a barbarian. She looked like royalty, in her bearing and her gait.

"How were you captured?" Miraz asked her, a little breathless. "I must know."

"My father," Prunaprismia said, "was killed by you Telmarines. He was hailed as our king. Your so-called _good_ Commander was the one who took the blade to his neck. I became his prisoner, treated like a dumb animal until I came here." She was no storyteller, like a vivid Calormene, but her tale was told fiercely and angrily and with enough passion that it cut a whole in Miraz's heart. Miraz was sure that she would object to marrying him as well.

"And your mother?"

"Mother died birthing my youngest sister."

"You have siblings?"

"Aye. I have four. All of them are dead. How many questions do you intend on asking?"

_'Would you marry a Telmarine' may be one, _Miraz thought.

"Where is this going, Your Highness?" Elizabeth interrupted.

Miraz ignored her. "Have you had suitors, Prunaprismia?"

"Aye. One I had intentions of marrying, but he is dead now."

Elizabeth cut in again. "Your Highness—?"

"You know very well that you will hang if you are found here, Prunaprismia?"

"I will hang even if I'm not."

"_Will you_?"

Prunaprismia nodded.

"There is an alternative."

Prunaprismia grimaced, her deep eyes glittering in the morning light that slanted through the windows, as Miraz walked closer, slowly, never parting with her gaze.

"You can marry me."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. She gasped. Maybe he wasn't as hardheaded as she'd thought. But Prunaprismia seemed to detest the Telmarines for killing her father and her suitor. What would she say?

Prunaprismia seemed surprised by the prince's statement as well. Her grimace deepened and her eyes hardened. She bunched a fist at her side. "Have you not listened to what I've been saying? You and your inhumane army have overrun our good nation! Who are the _real _barbarians?"

"I am of royalty and I demand you to marry me! It will save your life."

"You are not my king. You never will be. Nor will you be my husband!"

Her statement was similar to what Elizabeth had told him the previous night. _You will never be king. _Their statements only shoved him in deeper to becoming an avid traitor. The thoughts that had devoured him during the campaign only grew larger.

"It will save your life." Miraz repeated.

"My life will be wasted if I spend it here!" The girl protested.

"You think that your life is worthless? Then hang today."

Miraz left.

Elizabeth and Prunaprismia exchanged glances: Elizabeth's was frightened, but the girl's was hard and stony. "I will find a way to hide you." Elizabeth said quietly. "I _will_."

Prunaprismia gave the lady a small smile of appreciation. "Thank you. But could you not just let me go free?"

Elizabeth's eyes were sympathetic, and so was the hand on Prunaprismia's shoulder. "I dearly wish I could. But if I cannot hide you, you will be forced to marry the prince."

Miraz entered his father's chamber. The sun was trickling up to its morning level, making the sky a pale blue color, shaded with a few clouds here and there. The great shining light hung low though it was almost summer, and it painted the clouds with a rich, velvety red that bathed his father's chamber in bloody light. The king stood in that light talking to Steiphen over his desk. Steiphen was the first to face Miraz. His eyes were colder than ever, rather out of place in the warm morning light.

"Good morning." Miraz murmured.

Steiphen bowed his head. "Your Highness."

"Ah, Miraz!" Caspian looked up from his work. "Why have you come, my son?"

Miraz sighed deeply, trying to get the death of Prunaprismia off his conscience. "If I may, I want to speak with you _alone_, father." Steiphen's eyes got colder, especially since Miraz stressed the word _alone_. Caspian looked at the Commander briefly and then nodded.

"Very well. You are dismissed, Sir Steiphen." Caspian said.

"Your Majesty." The Commander bowed his head and left quickly, leaving his thoughts to himself.

There was a brief silence. The sun continued to rise outside the window over the mountains, still capped with snow. Miraz remembered gazing at those mountains every day, wondering if he would meet his demise in them. But they were far away from him now, any dangers within them oblivious of his existence.

"You wanted to say something, Miraz?" Caspian's dry voice brought him back to the King's chamber where he stood.

"Aye." Miraz replied curtly. "You know of Steiphen's prisoner, do you not?"

Caspian began to pace. "Oh, yes. The young barbarian girl. I know of her. May I inquire as to why you ask?"

"I know of her as well. She is due to hang."

"Yes, I know of that as well. Steiphen can do as he likes—I have no need for a barbarian."

Heartless! Did his father not know the meaning of death? Perhaps he had lived such a woolly, uneventful life as king that he had forgotten the feeling of pain. Even as he had seen Glozelle whipped so many years ago he had the look of nonchalance in his calm gray eyes. Such a powerful king—oblivious of the war and bloodshed around him.

"Then I make a plea before you, father—spare her life." Miraz said simply. "Neither you nor Steiphen have any reason to watch an innocent girl hang."

"Is the choice mine," Caspian asked sternly, "or is it Steiphen's, Miraz? After all, he captured her. And he made the decree of her hanging."

"If you allow him to, you show yourself as a careless king!" Miraz hissed, angry that his father would let an innocent fall dead. "You will show the world that you are no powerful ruler, only a common bloodletter. Do you want people to think of you in that way? Living in fear under your very presence? Were I king, I would not allow Steiphen to hang her. What say you?"

"I say she hangs, Miraz! You will not sway my judgment." Caspian said in a dangerously low voice. "She deserves to hang. It will not show that I am a bloodletter, nay—it will show her people that I _will_ hang a barbarian, innocent or otherwise! They are the very people that we Telmarines swore to thwart and be rid of. They are like a pestilence, Miraz—infecting and killing off the world with their existence."

Miraz's eyes were cold. Who was it that he should kill—his father, or his brother? Apparently his brother was like a pestilence as well, infecting his father. He still bore sympathy for his father, though the sympathy thinned after their encounter. But had he sympathy for his brother? No. It was his brother who would infect the kingdom with his rule—as he had done with his father. Who was the pestilence—the barbarians, or Caspian?

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	14. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not, under any circumstances, own Narnia. **

**Author's Note: Chapter 13! I'm getting a little more...um...creative with my chapter titles, for, as you can see, I have masterfully entitled the following chapter "Death of an Innocent". I love all of your reviews! Enjoy!**

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Chapter 13 ~ Death of an Innocent

Another visitor.

The hours darkened and evening was coming on steadily like an army of Calormene horses. It was then that a knock had come at the King's door. All day, visitors had interrupted Caspian: lords, ladies, Sir Steiphen, the odd knight, and his sons. All of this visiting had grown quite tedious to the king. All he wanted was to get the work at hand done—and _not_ have more work to finish and more conflicts to solve!

"Enter." Caspian groaned.

Lady Elizabeth entered, pulling in another lady in with her. They were swathed in identical dresses, but their faces were very different. In sharp contrast with Elizabeth's face, the other lady's complexion was slightly darker—like that of a barbarian. Her hair was dark too, ink black, in fact, like a crow's feather, only much prettier. She had large, curious dark eyes that added to the darkness of her visage. They seemed to smile even when her mouth did not. Elizabeth was the only one that was smiling, though it was small.

"Good evening, Your Majesty." Both of the ladies curtsied delicately.

"Good evening, Lady Elizabeth and…?"

The lady spoke up. "Prunaprismia, er, Your Majesty." She stammered awkwardly, looking at her feet with a bashful look on her face.

"Lady Prunaprismia. Such a beautiful creature cursed with such an…ill-favored title."

Prunaprismia looked slightly offended, probably used to such comments comparing her wild beauty to her name.

"Your Majesty," said Lady Elizabeth, "this girl is the barbarian that my husband, Sir Steiphen, wishes to hang."

Caspian's brow came crashing down over his eyes as he looked up from a document lying on his desk. He scrutinized the young lady carefully. She was a barbarian? He had always saw the barbarians as evil, glowering people, ugly and twisted, bent on killing and bloodletting. This flower of a girl looked like she had never even fired an arrow from a bow, and it was probably true, for her eyes were peaceful and calm.

He began to pace slowly behind his desk, still keeping his eyes on her. "My good lady," he said quietly, "were I given the chance to hang you, far be it from me to do so. I can't but imagine why Steiphen would want to hang such a fair young girl such as yourself."

"Then will you call off the hanging, Your Majesty?" Elizabeth asked weakly.

"Were I not at the mercy of Sir Steiphen, then, aye, I would call off the hanging."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "You mean my husband threatened you into hanging this girl?" Her voice was layered with anger and spite.

Caspian was quick to shake his head. "No, no, no, dear lady! I mean nothing of the sort. But I would indeed loose his trust and his favor were I to decline him and call off the hanging—and right now I need his trust more than ever."

Just then, Miraz entered, his mouth open as if he was going to speak. It immediately closed when he met the eyes of Prunaprismia who had turned to face him. Her brow sloped downward when she saw him. Her long fingers twisted into fists at her side. Miraz swallowed hard and looked away from her.

"Father," he said simply, "Steiphen…plans to hang her in the morning." He tried to remain as non-accusatory as possible, but the constantly hardening eyes of Prunaprismia told him he had not done very well at doing so. Elizabeth seized Prunaprismia's arm.

"He cannot!" She hissed angrily. "He will not!"

"He will not listen to you, Elizabeth. He will _not_. He is adamant on being rid of her."

"But why?" Elizabeth turned fearfully to Prunaprismia. "What have you done that would make him so angered and bent on killing you?"

Prunaprismia shook her head incoherently, her eyes still steely. "I am royalty. That is why he wants to kill me. And I? What have I _done_? Nothing. Nothing."

Miraz approached his father, walking between the two ladies and keeping his gaze level with his father's. "I will find a way to save her, father, no matter what you say." He said stubbornly. "I will—I will marry her." He turned to face Prunaprismia, whose eyes widened with shock. "I _will_ marry her."

"I—"

"Do not refuse me. Do _not_. I will _not_ see you hang. I will _not_ live with your soul on my conscience…knowing that you were innocent. Do _not _refuse. Marry me."

Prunaprismia's eyes were still arrogant, but she sighed heavily and looked at her feet again. Even Elizabeth looked quizzical. There was a long, drawn out pause, filled with tension and awaiting an answer from the young lady who was just offered a hasty proposal that balanced between life and death.

"Make your choice. Marry me, or be wed to the gallows."

Prunaprismia breathed another trembling sigh, not tolerant enough to meet the eyes of the impatient Miraz. Elizabeth rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. Then, Prunaprismia's fists unfurled. Her head hung in defeat.

"You have bested me." She said in a low, sorrow-filled voice. "I will marry you. But I will tell you know how much this dishonors me—if I am ever to return to the Mountains, to my people—I will be banished."

Miraz nodded slowly. "Very well." He stated. Prunaprismia turned quickly to leave and was gone before anyone knew it. Elizabeth gave Miraz a slightly cold look and left after her, calling her name.

Miraz, his back to his father, had not yet seen his father's reaction to his proposal. But his voice spoke his mind.

"What a way to disgrace yourself, Miraz!" He boomed, any of his old, weak vulnerability faded away, peeled off to reveal the powerful king he was. "She may be disgraced harshly, but you are disgraced tenfold! A Telmarine has never married a barbarian! Rash, rash boy! She was only one life, one soul in this great world—and yet she was the one that you took pity on! To think that you ignored anything I ever said about your superiority—"

"I care not about _superiority_!" Miraz cut him off, turning to face his father. His eyes were as cold as Miraz's. "She was going to die. I felt responsible for her the moment I saved her from her captivity. I could not have tried to hide her—'twould have been impossible. This was the only way I could've saved her."

"Very well. Take pity on your enemies, but ignore your family." Caspian spat. "You are dismissed. Leave my presence."

Miraz retreated, not looking back. His anger simmered and seethed within him, growing until it had slithered into his mind, into his heart, into his soul, into his very core. He had just promised to marry one that he did not love, and had to tell his father he did want to marry her. But the very truth was that he did not. He abhorred the barbarians. And yet he had just told himself—and Prunaprismia—he would marry one.

But it had to be done. Many of the barbarians he had killed were criminals and murderers, mercenaries and cruel killers. This young girl was but a maiden, still so youthful and innocent. She did not deserve to die. He would not live with the life of a late girl on his conscience, as he had said to himself so many times, and yet he still denied himself.

_He could not carry the life of a girl, yet he could carry the life of his very brother!_

But he felt that this was different. Prunaprismia was an innocent lady. Caspian was in no ways innocent.

Or was he? _In what ways is he guilty? _Miraz asked himself. _In what ways has he wronged you that would make you want to kill him? _

Caspian was not guilty in any way. He may have snapped a few times at Miraz, but did that deserve death? Never had Caspian killed an innocent, nor had he killed someone who did not deserve it. Did he deserve to be judged rashly by his brother and put to death because of such false judgment?

No.

_He may not deserve death, but that does not mean that he deserves the throne! _

The people may have loved Caspian, but in Miraz's eyes, he knew Caspian would become a tyrant, a man far too powerful that he became a usurper of his own power. He would not rule the kingdom well. And Miraz would have to take the throne.

That was certain.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	15. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. **

**Author's Note: Here's just a short chapter making ends meet, and showing how petty Miraz's wedding is. He is now officially on the road to his betrayal. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 14 ~ Wed

Miraz was wed with no audience except Elizabeth, who stood beside Prunaprismia who waited at the altar. The hall was dark as he entered, lit only by a small iron chandelier that dangled overhead. Prunaprismia glowed even in the scant light. Her black hair was stark against the long veil that concealed her face. By the look of sorrow in her eyes it was as if she were mourning. Her gown was of linen and white with small roses. Though it was a wedding and was supposed to be joyful, both of them looked upon each other with stony faces.

Miraz approached the altar slowly, keeping his gaze with Prunaprismia, trying to find a reason to love her to make the rest of his life seem less doom-laden than it was going to be. He was marrying a barbarian. That would either cause peace among the two nations or even more conflict—Miraz was sure that it would be more conflict. There would always be bad blood between the Telmarines and the barbarians—wedding or no. As he had heard many people say, "There is no peace with the barbarians."

He walked up the stairs and turned to face her. There was a burning silence, doused only by the small sound of the flickering candles. Prunaprismia's eyes glistened in the light and Miraz almost thought she was crying, but behind the veil it was incoherent whether she was or not.

"I have the rings." Elizabeth said quietly. She gave one to Prunaprismia and the other to Miraz.

Miraz took Prunaprismia's left hand in his. It was cold and stiff, unwelcoming towards his touch. He slipped the ring onto her finger gently, and said, rather shakily:

"Forever will you be my wife."

Prunaprismia did the same as he had done when his hand receded, pushing the ring rather malevolently onto his finger, meeting his eyes with a fiery glare and saying:

"Forever will you be my husband."

Miraz folded back her veil and leaned forward to give her an awkward kiss. He felt her push away and replied to it by obeying her.

"We now are wed…forever."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	16. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. **

**Author's Note: Here's just a short chapter making ends meet, and showing how petty Miraz's wedding is. He is now officially on the road to his betrayal. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 14 ~ Wed

Miraz was wed with no audience except Elizabeth, who stood beside Prunaprismia who waited at the altar. The hall was dark as he entered, lit only by a small iron chandelier that dangled overhead. Prunaprismia glowed even in the scant light. Her black hair was stark against the long veil that concealed her face. By the look of sorrow in her eyes it was as if she were mourning. Her gown was of linen and white with small roses. Though it was a wedding and was supposed to be joyful, both of them looked upon each other with stony faces.

Miraz approached the altar slowly, keeping his gaze with Prunaprismia, trying to find a reason to love her to make the rest of his life seem less doom-laden than it was going to be. He was marrying a barbarian. That would either cause peace among the two nations or even more conflict—Miraz was sure that it would be more conflict. There would always be bad blood between the Telmarines and the barbarians—wedding or no. As he had heard many people say, "There is no peace with the barbarians."

He walked up the stairs and turned to face her. There was a burning silence, doused only by the small sound of the flickering candles. Prunaprismia's eyes glistened in the light and Miraz almost thought she was crying, but behind the veil it was incoherent whether she was or not.

"I have the rings." Elizabeth said quietly. She gave one to Prunaprismia and the other to Miraz.

Miraz took Prunaprismia's left hand in his. It was cold and stiff, unwelcoming towards his touch. He slipped the ring onto her finger gently, and said, rather shakily:

"Forever will you be my wife."

Prunaprismia did the same as he had done when his hand receded, pushing the ring rather malevolently onto his finger, meeting his eyes with a fiery glare and saying:

"Forever will you be my husband."

Miraz folded back her veil and leaned forward to give her an awkward kiss. He felt her push away and replied to it by obeying her.

"We now are wed…forever."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	17. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, nor shall I ever. **

**Author's Note: This chapter kind of came to me on a whim. Enjoy!**

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Chapter 16 ~ The Utter Truth

_He saw the future. _

_He saw everything. _

_He saw the castle. It seemed to have a shadow cast across it. All of its once-red banners were black and fluttered against a gray, dreary sky. All of the windows were dark. There was no sound except for the raspy caw of a raven flying across the sky. _

_A face appeared in his vision. The face wore a crown on top of its head, but the features of the face itself were not discernable, but it was a face that Miraz knew, he was sure. It was so familiar, and yet he could not name it. So familiar… _

_He then saw Elizabeth, her porcelain face gray and her hands carrying flowers—roses, starkly red against her black dress. Tears fell down her face slowly, pouring from her downcast eyes. Why was she crying? She stood by a gravestone in the rain, on a large plain by the mountains. Miraz could clearly see the name on the plaque. _

_COMMANDER STEIPHEN. _

_The date on the plaque was only two years away. _

_He saw his father, lying on a deathbed; seemingly he had just died, for he still saw tears on his face. _

_Why had _he_ been crying? _

_He saw the angered, betrayed eyes of Prunaprismia, large and bright with rage. Tears came from them as well. _

_Why was _she_ crying? _

_Through his whole dream, he had not yet seen Caspian. He had only seen how his evil rule might be like…_

_Was he to live. _

_Now a tall figure stood before him, with eyes that were dark and evil with madness and anger. He looked frighteningly like Miraz, only slightly older and slightly shorter. He was not weeping, luckily. But he was laughing. It was the most horrible thing Miraz had ever heard. So horrible, it had caused him to fall back. _

"_What do you want with me?" He breathed, edging back, not knowing if he would fall back into nothingness that may have dwelled in the darkness around him. _

"_You are my descendant. You belong to me! My wrongdoings will become yours, my sins will put the price on your head!" The man growled. "You will die for the things I have done!" His laugh resounded, filling the air around them in an echoing, evil chorus. Miraz stifled a gasp. _

"_Who are you?" He asked thinly, barely able to hear his voice in the black air. _

"_I AM VOSTAD THE RED!" _

_Though the words were cold, Miraz found warmth in them. He felt belonging. He was meeting his ancestor, his brother…his master. He felt something surging through his veins that was not his own blood, something much more powerful and potent than his own blood, something that would not be penetrated by any sword, something that gave him a surge of courage through his very core. _

_He knew what it was. _

_It was the blood of Vostad the Red. _

_But he still felt emptiness somewhere deep within him, something that still needed to be filled by the power that surged, pulsating through his body. No matter how hard the power and blood pulsed, that one spot was still empty. _

_The spot was his heart, his soul, his core. His yearning for love was not overcome by Vostad's words. _

"_Your destiny does not lie within the life of a prince." Vostad murmured. "No, no, far from the life of a prince—the life of a king! But the only way to follow your destiny…is to do what I did, hundreds of years ago…if you want to remain faithful to your Brothers…kill your brother!" He laughed once again, then it all faded…_

Miraz opened his eyes only to find himself, once again, in darkness, though it seemed thin and shallow compared to the darkness he had been in. The power still surged through him, but that empty spot still irritated him.

But he knew what he had to do.

He rose up out of his bed, glancing outside the window. There was a full moon, washing the window's threshold with white, eerie light. He pulled on a navy robe over his white sleeping tunic and black trousers, and strapped on a belt with a dagger on it. Exiting his chamber, he did not look back.

The halls were dark. He knew it was late—very late, but not yet early morning. No one walked through the halls except him. Behind every door he knew a monarch slept—except for in Caspian's chamber, for light filtered into the hall from under his door. Miraz knocked.

"Come in." Came the muffled reply.

Miraz slowly opened the door and looked inside. Every candle was lit, as was the chandelier hanging overhead. Caspian was bent over a paper, probably a pact from Terabinthia or something of that sort. He turned only slightly to meet the eyes of his brother.

"Miraz?" He let the question hang in the air. "What are you doing here—at this hour?"

"I—needed to talk to you, brother." Miraz replied slowly, surreptitiously putting a hand on the dagger at his side. Caspian turned back to his work.

"Please, Miraz—I'm busy. I need no more interruptions."

"You must hear what I have to say, Caspian. It's urgent. It cannot wait."

Caspian did not turn around. It seemed like he was speaking to the opposing wall when he said, "All right. What is it?" Something had changed in him, Miraz thought. When he'd entered his father's chambers the day he'd returned, he'd bickered with Miraz as soon as he'd seen his face. Now...there was something about him that made Miraz welcome in his presence.

Miraz sighed heavily. "About what mother said—the night she died. You told me what her final request was, did you not?" He loosed the dagger in its leather sheath, gripping it malevolently, feeling the power of Vostad's blood melt into the metal. Only one of them would leave the room alive that night. And Miraz knew which one would live.

"Aye, I did, Miraz. Where is this going?" Caspian asked wearily.

He pulled the dagger out a little bit. His breaths quickened, as if he had just ran a far distance. His brow trembled. Why was his power betraying him, now of all times? He began to feel weak and ill, his nerves slackening as if they were exerted. The fist on his dagger began to waver like his brow.

"She said—I should become king. Do you agree, Caspian? Speak the truth." Miraz murmured.

Caspian's back tensed visibly. His head jerked up from his work, but he did not turn back to meet the eyes of his brother. "What? Why is this so important, Miraz?" He asked, his voice shaking slightly, as if he did not want his brother to know the truth.

"I want to know. It is important in many ways, brother. Tell me. Do you agree or do you not?" Miraz asked again, unsheathing his dagger fully now. He felt a trickle of sweat inch down his forehead, walking closer to his brother until they were only inches apart. He held up the knife, clenching it with strength born from rage.

"In many ways, Miraz, you are noble and lenient. In many ways you would be a good king. I confess I sometimes envy you. I always have, even if it hasn't seemed like it in the past. Containing your anger when you only want to lash out at another. I—I could never do such a thing. You have such a temper, Miraz - but you keep it well. The way that you can withstand even the vilest of testimonies father speaks against you—I believe you wouldn't even cringe if I told you the things he said about you while you were on campaign. I only belittle you because I _envy_ you brother, if you must know the truth."

Miraz dropped his hand and backed away. It was the truth. He knew it. Somehow, he knew immediately that Caspian was speaking the utter truth. But that didn't shrink any of the hate he had towards him. The things he had said before to him had not been washed away just because he had spoken the truth, oh, no—he would still have to die.

But not yet.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	18. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. **

**Author's Note: Well, love can melt the coldest of hearts, and it's finally melted Miraz's. A short chapter that also came on a whim--I've been working on a whim a lot lately...anyway, enjoy!**

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Chapter 17 ~ Accepting Love

Night eased into morning, bringing a soft rain with it. Miraz had gone back to his quarters after the encounter with his brother and had tried to find sleep. He was surprised to find that he had some time in the night, for in the morning he found himself opening his eyes and staring up at the wooden canopy of his bed. All of the memories of the previous night came flooding back in. The dagger and belt still hung on a chair nearby, as if saying to him, _try again. _

But he remembered what his brother had said to him and did not follow it.

The blood of Vostad was still in him, though. That was certain. With every movement he could feel the power course through his veins as they had done so potently the previous night. But now, they did not seem so potent. He dressed and left his chamber, halfheartedly fastening on the belt with the dagger on it.

He wanted to find Prunaprismia. For some reason that he was oblivious of, he wanted to talk to her. About the life they were to share together, though maybe neither of them liked the idea of a life with one whom they would never marry when not under duress.

Miraz was surprised to see that his father's chamber door was opened slightly. It was dark and cold within. He opened it wider to look inside.

The physician was hovering over his father, who lay weakly in his bed. His face was gray, pale, and drawn, with deep, purple circles shaded around his eyes. His wrinkles were craggier, as well, making him look far older than he was. His eyes were closed.

"What's happened?" Miraz asked slowly.

"His Majesty got sick in the night." The physician stated crisply. "Fever struck him all too hard." Miraz looked closer and saw the small rivers of sweat that fell down Caspian's face.

"Is he conscious?"

"Aye, he is. In a heavy sleep, though…I fear that he may not wake."

"_What?_"

The physician met his eyes innocently. "I'm sorry, my lord, I'm doing everything. But we may need to crown the Prince sooner rather than later."

_There is more than one prince, you know. _Miraz thought spitefully. Every day, people—even lowly physicians—were becoming braver about insulting him. He counted off the people he could hang…if he were king.

Miraz stood silently for a moment, observing his father's limp, frail body. He was once a powerful king—reduced to an old man.

"Do as much as you can," Miraz said shakily, "and keep him alive."

He left quickly.

To calm his nerves, he decided to take an early morning walk on the terrace. The rain was beginning to subside, but it was still rather bleak and cloudy. Miraz didn't mind. He just needed fresh air. He leaned against the balustrade, sighing deeply. His father was dying. The truth had hit him hard like a charging horse, knocking the wind from him. Miraz wondered if maybe it was his choice to marry Prunaprismia that made his father so indisposed? He dismissed the fact. That was a childish thought. It had not moved his father that deeply…had it?

A figure was walking along the terrace. Miraz turned and saw Prunaprismia herself, strolling idly and close to the wall. She met his eyes, and unsmiling, she said:

"Hello."

Miraz bowed his head slightly and silently toward her. "What are you doing here?"

"Walking." She said simply, approaching her husband to stand beside him. Miraz had the feeling she was trying to be friendly towards him, for her eyes were not as cold as they usually were. He looked up at them, being swallowed by their immense depth and mystery. "You look rather pale. What ails you?"

Miraz sighed heavily again and dropped from her gaze. Of course—she probably didn't know yet. "My father is very ill. He mayn't recover." He said quietly. He shivered when she put a hand lightly on his shoulder. For some reason, Miraz felt something wasn't right. Prunaprismia was never this open towards him—why else had she been running from him for the past five days, after their strange marriage?

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "I really am. It is very hard to watch a family member die."

"He might not die." Miraz said firmly. He didn't want to go and blatantly assume that his father was going to die. There was hope, wasn't there? He met her gaze again. Her eyes were warmer and more sympathetic than ever—he'd never seen so much kindness in them. Perhaps this was her way of accepting that she was his wife and embracing the fact, in a way. Their faces were so close; Miraz almost thought she was going to kiss him. But she didn't. She only smiled.

"I'm sorry, Miraz." She repeated, and then she left.

He found something to love about Prunaprismia after that moment. He'd never looked so deeply into her eyes. They were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen—eloquent and yet so strong and piercing. From that moment, that strange, strange moment, he loved Prunaprismia—he would give his life for her. The power from Vostad had been washed away with the unconditional love he now found for Prunaprismia. But it was still so strange—just in that moment, in that very, very short moment, he had found love. That empty spot that Vostad's power could not sustain was now filled and overflowing. Though he did not feel that power coursing in his veins, he felt something much better than that.

And then, once again, the face of reality peered into Miraz's, reminding him of his plot. He suddenly felt cold, washed over now with fear, though that empty spot still remained filled with its radiant warmth, it seemed much smaller now that he was faced with his plan of death. The feeling of that wonderful love had made Miraz reconsider.

Was it worth killing his brother? Other than having unending power, a king also held the world on his shoulders. But that was another benefit as well. If he supported the world, he controlled it as well. The warm feeling in his heart was beginning to melt into the coldness that was so familiar after his encounter with Vostad. It left him, once again, feeling cold and empty, yearning for the warmth that had enveloped him only moments before.

How cold and empty the world can be.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	19. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, ok? **

**Author's Note: Sorry I haven't been fluent in my updates! I've had a bit of writer's block lately and I've been pretty busy. This chapter might seem like a "this-person-only-wrote-this-chapter-to-get-rid-of-writer's-block" chapter. But, don't worry, the finale is coming!**

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Chapter 18 ~ Death

The days continued to drag by, neither faltering nor speeding ahead. Miraz tried to see Prunaprismia more often, but could never find her. He now no longer wanted to avoid her. It was doltish to avoid his own wife, barbarian or not. Perhaps Prunaprismia did not know of his sudden change of heart and thought he still wanted to remain aloof. And Miraz had so many thoughts on his mind - perhaps it was better that way.

He found himself going to his father's chamber frequently, making sure the physician was doing his best to keep him alive. It seemed that he was, though every time he entered his father was sleeping and never woke during the time he was visiting. The physician was innocent enough in telling him that his father had been awake before, and was actually doing quite well for a man of his age with such a condition.

"I'm doing the best I can." The physician assured Miraz once again.

But one late afternoon Miraz entered and found his father awake, sitting on the edge of his bed. His eyes were bright and there was a little color in his face rather than the pale, papery complexion Miraz had seen before, though he was still quite gaunt. His craggy wrinkles creased deeper as he grinned when his son entered.

"Ah, Miraz! The physician tells me you have been visiting quite a lot." He said dryly. The physician was standing nearby, giving Miraz another look of assurance, though Miraz could tell the doctor was very proud of himself. Caspian looked up at the physician. "How is my condition?"

"Fair enough." The physician replied, his voice slightly boastful. "Far better than you were in the past, Your Majesty."

"Good." Caspian smiled. "I would like to take a little stroll."

The day was warm and bright. The sky overhead was a soft, gentle blue that matched the graceful breeze, dancing in the wonderful radiance of the sun, which had not reared its head for quite some time. The breezes smelled fresh and clean from all of the rain that had cleansed the world in the previous days. Miraz and his father walked on the terrace, Caspian leaning on a large walking staff and having one hand on his son's shoulder, for his legs were still quite weak and frail. Miraz walked slowly and patiently, wincing every time his father wheezed or coughed.

"How is your fair wife, Miraz?" Caspian asked after a long period of sunny silence. There was no edge on his voice, only that same, rather annoying hint of casualness that Miraz had heard so many times before. Had everyone changed around Miraz? How come suddenly everyone was showing him compassion? Or had he not noticed it before? Caspian had loathed the idea of him marrying a barbarian woman.

"She is well, father. Quite well." Miraz replied, glad that his father was accepting the fact that Miraz and Prunaprismia were married and that he could not change that—for marriage was an undying bond.

"I am glad to hear so. 'Twould bring pity to my heart if I heard that she was not well." Caspian said sympathetically. "You do tell the truth, do you not, son?"

"Of course I tell the truth, father. Prunaprismia is quite well. As am I." Miraz confirmed, wondering why his father would think him a liar. Caspian nodded his approval wordlessly. Another silence passed on. Caspian breathed in shakily, and said:

"I believe I will return to my quarters now. Thank you, Miraz."

-

"My lord! My lord!"

There was a thunderous knock on Miraz's door, urgent and repetitive.

"Come in." Miraz stated calmly.

The physician came bursting in, his appearance disheveled and his eyes wide with fear, as if he was going to deliver groundbreaking news. He stood at the threshold, catching his breath.

"What is it?" Miraz asked impatiently.

"Your father—my lord, His Majesty is not doing well. He wants you to come to him."

"Why?"

"It's his orders, sir—please, come, _now_!"

Miraz followed the hasty physician to his father's quarters. Why would his father want him, at this hour?

Was he dying?

He entered his father's chamber. Caspian lay wheezing shakily in his bed, his eyes clouded over as if in delirium. His face was wet, as was his tunic, wet with the heat of fever. Miraz moved over to him quickly and clutched his clammy hand. He knew what was happening. But he had been so well only hours before, in that glorious summer light, talking merrily with his son, reconciling an old bond with his kin. What had happened?

He _was_ dying.

The cloudy eyes met his. A trembling smile stretched weakly across Caspian's face and he clutched his son's hand. "Miraz…" He whispered, so quietly Miraz could barely hear him.

Miraz bent his head. "Father." He met his father's eyes again. "Why do you not call on Caspian, your eldest, at your hour of death? You must give him your blessing—"

"I…already have, Miraz." Caspian rasped, still smiling. "Though I wish dearly that I could give it to you."

Miraz's eyes widened a little. His father was talking like his mother. He wanted Miraz on the throne as well? "What holds you back from giving it to me?" He asked slowly, trying to persuade his father to take back the blessing. _Surely one cannot take back a blessing...but perhaps, there is a chance...a small chance..._

Caspian's smile faded and his cloudy eyes became a little cold. "I was afraid that was what you were to say." He had sensed the tone of greed in Miraz's voice and knew that he, too, wanted the throne. "Do not do anything foolish, Miraz, even if you want the crown so badly."

Miraz grimaced, his fingers slipping from his father's. "What would you call foolish, father?"

"Killing your brother."

Of course. Miraz knew that's what he would say. But he wouldn't listen. Many times he listened to his father, especially after the campaign, but not when he told him not to spill the blood of his brother to get to the throne.

But he was dying now. What could he do? He had not the strength to face his son anymore. He was an old man. And in just a few moments, he would be dead. There was still no one in Miraz's way. He could tell his father right now what he was going to do, in fact, and still would be able to do it.

Miraz met his father's cloudy gaze with his own steely one. "Killing my brother, father?" He murmured. "You call it foolish?" He drew out his dagger. "I call it essential."

"Miraz—!" Caspian's eyes cleared and widened, lifting up his hand to grab the knife, but it withered down soon after. "Please, Miraz, do not put your anger on your brother. You were meant to be a prince. And you will always be a prince. You will always be known as who you are and what you will be."

"I may not have to be a prince, father. I can make my own decisions. Who remembers the princes? No one." Miraz said coldly. "But everyone remembers traitors."

"Miraz…" Caspian whispered, his eyes waning and filling with tears. He fell back in his bed, still looking at Miraz and trembling. "How could you?"

And then, in the blink of an eye, the Eighth Telmarine king of Narnia died.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	20. Chapter 19

**Le Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. 'Nuff said. **

**Le Author's Note: The Writer's Block is over! Yay! No more Writer's Block=No more reader's suffering though dry dialogue and uneventful chapters...Ok, so here's the chapter after Chapter 18...which is Chapter 19. This is another one of those "on-a-whim" chapters, so buckle up and prepare to...read. :) Enjoy!**

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Chapter 19 ~ An Accomplice

The funeral was like that of any other king's—it was raining, of course. It had been raining when Miraz's uncle and grandfather died. Caspian the Eighth carried on the tradition, Miraz thought with bitter humor. The ceremony was in the courtyard, with many of the townsfolk present; those who did not like Caspian coughed and shuffled their feet, looking like they didn't care. Miraz stood in front next to his brother, the only relation he had left except for the odd cousin or uncle that lived in some unknown lordship or dukedom in the mountains.

His father would be put to rest in the Hall of Kings far below the castle, where torches were the only light, casting shadows of the grave, silent stone faces of the carved out likenesses on the caskets. Miraz had journeyed down there many times, especially as a boy or with Doctor Cornelius, who would tell him the great feats of each king they passed. Miraz looked upon every grave face as coldly as their tapestry pieces looked at him. He knew that he would never rest in the Hall of Kings. The princes were not given any grand burial—usually they burned.

Miraz would no longer visit the Hall of Kings, now that his father rested there.

The ceremony dragged on. Many nobles close to Caspian spoke testimonies in flat, monotonous voices that were long and dreary, especially in the rain. Miraz's legs ached after standing so long. If Caspian's were as stiff as his, he didn't show it; his eyes remained straight ahead, drinking in each word that was spoken, reflecting on the memories of his father. He knew what would happen in only a few days.

A coronation.

Miraz stole a glance at his brother. A small tear was traveling down his face. Was that tear for father, or for the trials ahead? Caspian knew he would have enemies. A lot of them, especially with the Mountain barbarians barking at his heels and Terebinthia an assumed enemy that his father had overlooked. Miraz knew that Caspian was a little selfish, but he had loved his father, and he probably loved him now more than ever. What would he do now? Who would he look to for guidance as a king?

Miraz?

If he did, Miraz would surely give him advice: Don't worry. No one's going to try to kill you. You reside within the strong walls of a great castle and you come from a line of powerful warriors. Who would want to get in your way?

Except for, perhaps, one on the inside?

But Miraz would not tell him that. To say that would put his plan in jeopardy. And besides, a king always was happy to hear what he wanted to hear. Miraz might find a noose about his neck were he to say something that the king thought was a lie.

Miraz spotted Glozelle standing close to him. His features looked grave and sad, but Miraz saw that his eyes were cold and perhaps angry…and also a little relieved, as if he were glad that Caspian was dead. It was only the truth—Caspian had not treated Glozelle in the way that he should've been treated. He had been beaten and whipped mercilessly only because Caspian had waved his hand—but it was the debts of Miraz that Glozelle had been paying for. But his eyes were cold and stony nonetheless, and it wasn't Miraz who was dead.

After the ceremony all of the peasants walked quietly out of the courtyard to finish the day. Miraz retreated up the steps to the terrace, watching as Sir Steiphen and others took the body of their king down to the caverns of the castle. The bells in the belfry high above him were ringing four o'clock in the afternoon—the ceremony had sprawled across four hours. No wonder Miraz was so weary. Four hours of standing stiffly while nobles rambled hoarsely on about the life of their king.

Glozelle walked past hurriedly, but Miraz caught him as he passed by speaking to him.

"Glozelle." He said simply.

Glozelle met his eyes. "My lord prince." He said quickly, almost guiltily, as if he had been caught doing something wrong. Was he guilty of thinking hateful thoughts toward the king?

"What did you think of the ceremony, Glozelle?" Miraz inquired, his voice far to innocent and casual to be mistaken for an accusatory interrogation.

"It was…pleasant, my lord prince." He said hastily.

"Was it? I thought it was rather a bore."

Glozelle stole a second glance. "A bore, my lord prince?" Glozelle was sure he was being tested. "No, sir, I think it was a funeral…er…fit for a king."

"Really? Speak the truth, Glozelle. I will listen, I assure you."

Glozelle's mouth hung open, but nothing came from it.

"You think me such a tyrant that I would hang every man who spoke their mind to me?"

Glozelle, beginning to believe Miraz and yet still skeptical, replied, "Well, sir, I agree, it was rather long, but…"

"What do you think of the king himself, Glozelle?"

Miraz saw it. After the flash of dismay in Glozelle's eyes, he knew what he saw, and he wasn't being tricked—he saw anger. Only a brief flutter of it, but it had been there. He was sure. But it was soon tide over with remorse and regret, as if he sensed that the prince had seen it.

"Speak up, Glozelle. You won't be branded a liar if you tell the truth."

"I—I—" Glozelle stammered, the remorse widening. He looked about nervously. "He was a fair king—"

Miraz raised his voice. "Speak the truth! You are lying to me. Was he a good king?"

Glozelle was afraid that his life would soon be over. "Sir, well…" The anger returned. His voice steadied. "He was not, my lord prince. I swear to you that I tell the truth when I say that he was a cruel king."

"Do you want the future king to be better, Glozelle?"

"Aye, my lord prince."

"Do you believe that Caspian the Ninth will be a better ruler than his predecessor?"

"Aye, my lord prince."

"You are mistaken."

Glozelle's anger left his eyes, but it was still eminent in his voice. "Mistaken? Why?"

"I know Caspian in a different way than you do. He is not fit for the role as king. If you believe in a great, peaceful empire, you do not believe in Caspian the Ninth." Miraz said coldly.

Glozelle was silent. Miraz must have said it well, for he knew himself that he was lying. He needed accomplices. But many people believed in Caspian. If he stretched the truth…

"He will bring us all to our deaths, Glozelle. He will send the men off to war and we will all be dead before the end of his rule."

"What will you do, then?"

"Me? I cannot go far alone. But if I had accomplices…we could thwart this evil before it even begins."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	21. Chapter 20

**Ye Olde Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. 'Nuff said.**

**Author's Note: Chapter 20! OK, maybe it doesn't have the courtship I promised, but that's gonna come later. Meanwhile, sit tight and read Chapter 20, masterfully and ever-so creatively entitled, "The Trap Is Set"! Bwahahaha! Anyway, enjoy!**

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Chapter 20 ~ The Trap Is Set

_If Glozelle did not hear the bells tolling midnight, he is surely deaf! _

Their plan was straight—meet at midnight on the terrace, when no one would be about. And it was clear that it was midnight: It was dark and gloomy, as it always is at midnight, and the moon shone down from a thin veil of cloud that scudded across it. And yet Glozelle was not there.

But Miraz was. And at midnight, he was not patient. Especially when he had a dire plan that had to be mapped out. So, waiting there in the darkness of midnight, Miraz straightened the plan out in his own mind, imagining how he'd state it to Glozelle.

It seemed like a fairly simple plan: kill the king. But it was much more complex than that. Miraz was lucky that he was the prince, for many simple commoners and peasants were not allowed to even speak to the king, unless they had been arrested. The king was always surrounded by people—his doors were guarded as he slept. There was always some soldier—like the commander—who wanted to speak to him every waking hour of the day. And then there were festivals. The king was never let alone at a festival.

The guards at the door would be no interference, at the beginning of his plan. Miraz knew that guards could be bribed. They got a minimal compensation for their work, so they were always eager to earn more. The people who constantly spoke to the king would be no interference, either—once the king retired to his quarters for the night, they left him alone until dawn's first light.

The plan was flawless, perfect. Nothing stood in his way now. But it was harder now, after waiting for so long after so many opportunities. But he knew now that taking those opportunities would've proven fatal. Those opportunities were complex as well—and if Miraz had taken one of them, he would've never seen himself rule. There was more to killing a king than a knife.

"My lord!" A voice whispered behind him. Glozelle was standing there, interrupting Miraz's thoughts, garbed in a gray cloak and his usual plain tunic.

"Glozelle. So pleasant of you to finally be present." Miraz growled sarcastically. Glozelle backed away in defense. "Have you contacted your accomplice?"

"Sopespian? Aye." Glozelle replied brusquely. "He has agreed to your terms, and he will help you thwart Caspian."

"Good." Miraz confirmed. "He is a trustworthy man, is he not, Glozelle?"

"He is, sir, a very trustworthy man. He does not easily shift his ways. He's no traitor, sir."

Miraz nodded his consent. "Does he want pay?"

"No, sir."

"Good." Miraz repeated.

"Why do you ask, sir?"

"Leave it to a mercenary to commit treason, Glozelle."

There was a silence. "What is the plan, my lord?"

"I will tell you."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	22. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. 'Nuff said.**

**Author's Notes: Yeah, I know, blame the author. It's been three hundred years since my last post, I know. I'm sorry. Chronic writer's block! Ok, some may call this chapter boring, some may call it the best thing since sliced bread, I, for one, find it to be not the best chapter in the world. But that's my opinion. Please read and hopefully, enjoy. :P  
**

Chapter 21 ~ The Possession of Rage

_He knows the plan._

Miraz glanced coldly across the hall at Glozelle. The young man met his steely gaze and gave him a ghost of a nod.

The people of the castle had done what they could to decorate the cold, bleak Great Hall with banners and tapestries to hide its grayness, but to no real avail. No matter how hard they tried, the tapestries and banners melted into the stone, adapting to its frozen, nondescript ways and becoming as bleak and as cold as the stone itself. The only happy interior was the one large hanging chandelier.

On that day, the prince would become king.

All through the night before, Miraz had had horrible dreams and had found himself awake in a breathless frenzy countless times. He never remembered a single part of his dreams except for one recurring instance that haunted him to his very core.

_It was in a dark room, and he was alone, save for his brother. Three single torches lit the stone room they stood in. Caspian was turned away from him, his back rigid, the great silver crown—the crown of a king—on his head. Miraz only remembered two feelings: The feeling of rage—_

_And the feeling of a knife in his hand. _

_None of them spoke a word. If they did, it was so fogged and distorted Miraz could not discern it. The only moment that he remembered with extreme clearness was the moment the knife left his hand and spiraled toward his brother's back. A great, rushing feeling of triumph had filled Miraz to the brim, but was soon doused by the strange fires of agony, burning the tears that stung his eyes. _

_Caspian had then turned to face him. Miraz would never forget that sight. It was not the young, handsome face of his brother, the prince; it was the face of an old man, with wrinkles etching his deep-carved cheeks and gray eyes staring endlessly into nothingness. Tears that seemed to glow red traveled through the crags of his face. They were not tears of self-pity. They were of betrayal. _

_The only words Miraz heard in the entire reverie were these, coming from the mouth of his aged brother: _

_"Why, brother?" _

And then Miraz had woke.

The agony that he had felt from the dream quickly left after he had opened his eyes, but some deep, empty sensation still nagged his soul afterward, though he could not name such a feeling. Envy and rage were the only feelings he truly knew.

Caspian was now walking slowly toward the throne, the large throngs on either side of him watching silently, at least in the ears of Miraz—for all he knew, they could have been clapping. But to the prince, it was only Miraz and Caspian in the room. Caspian didn't move his eyes from the throne. His regal gaze laid steadily on the great chair, the seat that would grant him power until he rested with the kings—the power he thought Miraz would never have.

Miraz saw him draw in a great breath before he approached the final steps to the throne. He walked even slower now, savoring every last moment of princehood. He knelt down before Commander Steiphen, who would issue to him the crown. Steiphen took the precious thing from the pedestal upon which it was set, and reverently it was set upon the head of King Caspian the Tenth.

What was then in Miraz's heart was something that could not and never will be wholly described. He was not just angered—he was enthralled by the worst rage ever experienced, the worst envy, and the most horrible loathing ever inflicted upon a human soul. But only his eyes showed it. His eyes burned with a hate-filled fire that had flared up from his very core, swelling and burning within him until it blackened his heart to ash. For it was only then that his conscience was silenced and hate bound his soul in chains. But did anyone notice? No. Of course not. After all, he was only a _prince_.

_That crown belongs on my head! And yet the naïve fools put it upon the head of a bigot! _

The day passed. Miraz did not attend the celebration afterward—there was no way he could face his brother—the _king_—now. Were he to confront his brother, he might say something that would betray his plan…

But soon the hour of 9 o'clock came around and Miraz was called to Caspian's—the _king's_—quarters. As soon as he stepped out of his chamber he knew that he could not turn back. Caspian had given him an opportunity, and he had seized it.

He fastened on his dagger before he left.

Caspian's chamber was very dark, except for only a few torches. He was turned away from Miraz, his shoulders slumped like he carried the world's weight on them. His head was bowed, as if he paid homage to his dead father. For a moment Miraz almost felt sorry for him: He was only three and twenty years of age and already he was a king—he _did_ have the weight of the world on his shoulders. But Miraz did not let the pity linger. He remembered why he had come and forgot all of his pity.

"Brother." Caspian murmured solemnly, heaving a sigh. There was a long pause. "I must speak with you."

"I will listen." Miraz said weakly, with a placid layer in his voice, hoping to fool Caspian into his trap.

Caspian sighed again, putting his hands behind his back and lifting his head slowly. He seemed like an old man: bent, lonely, all of his movements slow and noble. "Now, at the dawn of my reign as king of Telmarine Narnia, I ask a favor of you, Miraz. I know that I have not treated you well in the past, but now, I have grown to respect you."

_Really? _Miraz scoffed in his head. He was not going to be fooled so callously. He had been the animal in the trap before, but now the tables were turned. And there was no going back. Miraz mocked a look of flattery. "You ask a favor of me, brother? And what, pray, is this favor?"

Caspian turned to face him. His eyes were grave and very solemn, gazing subtly at his younger brother. He no longer had the mischievous eyes of a young boy. He had shed them. And with those cheeky eyes went all of the insults he had ever said to Miraz. Miraz remembered when Caspian had nearly pleaded repentance to him. There was no more repentance in his eyes.

"Do you trust me, brother?"

Miraz nodded slowly. "Aye, brother, I do."

Caspian paused, glancing at the ground and then back at his brother, his eyes more probing than ever. "…Can I trust you?"

Miraz did not want to sound too prompt for fear his brother might smell a lie. He bided his time, waiting for the moment to speak his lie. He replied his brother, simply, yet eloquently enough:

"If it is in your will to trust me, brother, then do so."

Caspian nodded and a smile played as delicately as a harp on the sides of his mouth. "You are no longer the whelp you used to be." He said rather mischievously. _So he hasn't changed completely, _Miraz thought. "You have become a great warrior, Miraz, and a great warrior I can always trust."

Miraz remained silent.

Caspian's straight mouth returned and he turned away again. "During this day I have thought much of betrayal."

Miraz was caught off his guard. Betrayal? Was his brother really smart enough to find him out? The death of his brother would have to come much quicker. He laid a hand on the dagger at his side, his fingers brushing the pommel. Caspian did not notice.

"Betrayal, Caspian?"

"Aye, brother—betrayal."

Slowly, the dagger slid gently out of its sheath and into Miraz's awaiting hand. He made sure the glint of the steel would not catch Caspian's gaze.

"What of betrayal?"

"Many thoughts. The names of many people have come into my mind—none of whom I can trust."

Miraz began walking slowly toward his brother, keeping his armed hand down by his side. "People? What people, may I ask, brother?"

"Commander Steiphen, Elizabeth—even your wife. I can suspect anyone, Miraz. I am king. A king has enemies, even within his own walls. Anyone could be playing a game with me now, Miraz."

Miraz was only three feet away from his brother now, and close enough to bring forth his weapon. But he waited. He knew he had to wait.

"What is the favor you ask of me, brother?"

"I ask you to…"

"What?"

"Kill me now."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	23. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. 'Nuff said.**

**Author's Note: Here it is, the hopefully satisfying conclusion to Chapter 21! Enjoy!  
**

Chapter 22 ~ Refusal

Miraz backed away slowly, withdrawing his dagger. His brother _wanted_ to be killed? He had never thought…he had always thought that Caspian wanted to be king.

He did not answer his brother's plea.

"It may sound strange, Miraz, but…I cannot do this." Caspian said weakly. "I cannot be king. I am and will never be half of what father was." His head drooped.

Miraz was skeptical. Had Caspian found out his plan? Was this his way of _humoring_ Miraz? Miraz found it very insulting if he was. "Caspian, I—" He stammered.

"Please, brother. Do not falter."

Miraz held his dagger halfway. Would he do it? Perhaps. Should he do it? He was unsure. His brother wanted him to, but his heart told him otherwise. This was not the moment to take a life. He still had to bide his time, still had to wait for the certain opportune moment. Then was not the time. So, would he kill him? No. First, he would have to establish trust with his brother. Then…

"Caspian…" Miraz murmured, sheathing the dagger. "I cannot. I cannot do what is asked of me."

"Miraz, I _demand_ you to."

"No, no, I cannot. I will not. Do you think that I can kill my brother so callously?"

"I think that you can do what is ordered of you."

"Not this."

Caspian sighed heavily. His head was still drooped. "If you cannot do what I demand of you, you can perhaps do what I ask of you."

"What is that?"

"Leave."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	24. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I have not, will not, and shall never have possession of Narnia. I do, however, have possession of characters such as Elizabeth, Steiphen, and Rose, who have been created by the fanfiction author for the sole purpose of entertainment. For more details...never mind! **

**Author's Note: I feel so guilty! It's been YEARS...well, ok, weeks, since I've posted. I'm so sorry! Writer's block has been hitting me hard...so this might seem like one of those "This-Author-Is-Just-Trying-To-Ease-The-Pain-Of-Writer's-Block" kind of deal, so just hang in there! I think now is the appropriate time to tell you that the end is near...Anyway, enjoy! (Sorry I've run out of spiffy chapter titles too...)  
**

Chapter 23 ~ A Wife

A long time passed between Miraz and Caspian after their encounter. Caspian could not trust Miraz, for Miraz could not follow orders, and Miraz was wary of Caspian's distrust, which tightened the girths on the whole matter. Many days passed where one never spoke a word to the other, as it had been before in their youth. Months passed. Caspian's rule was not tyrannical, but Miraz still kept his suspicions. He would not let himself slide away from his murderous ambition. No. What had to be done, had to be done.

Prunaprismia was not oblivious of her husband's strange silence. She did not know what had gone on between Miraz and Caspian, but she knew that it was not something that she would always be unaware of. Miraz knew this as well.

"Miraz, you are more silent than I have usually seen you." She would say, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. "What is the matter? Is it what was said between you and His Majesty?"

Miraz, hating to hear his wife, his Prunaprismia, say that his brother was her king, and seeing how she was taken in by Caspian's rule, replied, "It was a subtle matter, Prunaprismia. It is not to be spoken here."

Prunaprismia could not get another word out of him. But she never strayed from the fact that he was hiding something.

Her suspicions continued on through the months. Through summer, and on into fall and winter. Before anyone knew it, a year had passed—a year since the death of Caspian, since Prunaprismia's marriage, and almost a year since Caspian's coronation. But Miraz never forgot his plan, and Caspian never forgot his father, and Prunaprismia never forgot about her suspicions.

Elizabeth watched them from a distance. Miraz took no notice of her anymore—no one really did. But Elizabeth was a shrewd woman, and she wasn't oblivious of Miraz and Caspian. She wasn't oblivious of Prunaprismia's suspicions. She knew that with all of the happenings of the year, Telmarine Narnia would soon see some of its darkest days.

Steiphen often stayed out of everyone's way. He spent his days alone, pacing along the terrace, walking quickly down the hallway to who-knows-where, often with a fist clenching his sword. Many wondered if the young man was slowly going mad from the war he'd seen, or if he was just generally unwelcoming. Elizabeth knew it to be the latter and didn't say anything about his strange temper.

Over the year, Caspian had acquired a wife. She was of distant relationship to their family on Anea's side. Her name was Rose, a very simple name for a very simple lady. She looked sad almost all the time, Miraz noted, unless Caspian rarely made her laugh—which no one else could do. Her appearance didn't seem to match, however, with her bearing. She had very fair hair that was always tight back, and pale blue eyes that were always bright. She wasn't pretty, especially compared to Prunaprismia's wild beauty, for she had a sharp face and a slightly paler complexion. Miraz did not know why Caspian chose her as a wife, but he did. They had had a simple wedding in the summer months and seemed fairly happy with one another.

More months passed on, and the gap between brothers widened. Any exchanges they had over their gap were quick and brusque, often mixed in with stony, grave glares. Caspian spent much of his time alone or with his new wife. Miraz felt distant from Prunaprismia now, especially after what had happened between him and Caspian. If he continued on like this, plotting until he knew not when, Miraz would have for himself two gaps—one separating him and his brother, and one dividing him from his wife. Was his plot really worth it? Was it really worth loosing the trust of wife and family to bloodshed? Miraz thought yes, it was, of course, for when this was all over, he could love Prunaprismia again.

But would she love him?

It never occurred to Miraz that Prunaprismia might not agree with him. But she would loose nothing when Miraz killed Caspian—in fact, she would have more. She would be a queen. She would rule—she would have power, like Miraz. Why would she not want Caspian dead? She hardly knew the man.

Miraz wondered why he couldn't tell his wife—he didn't know what had been keeping him from telling her: perhaps the fear that she would not agree with him. But now that he thought about it…there was nothing to loose in telling her.

After all, what could _she _do about it?

Much to Miraz's chagrin, she could do many things about it.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	25. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia. 'Nuff said. **

**Author's Note: Chapter 24! Yay! Perhaps a turning point, perhaps not...I have seen that I have demands for longer chapters, so I have brought to you, in fact, a longer chapter! Enjoy!  
**

Chapter 24 ~ The Bell Tower

Miraz knew that he had to tell Prunaprismia now. He couldn't keep a secret from her that she had every right of knowing. He knew that if she truly loved him, she would accept that Caspian had to die.

But he couldn't just tell her on the terrace or in the courtyard. Places like those were, of course, inhabited almost every hour of the day and night and very open. He would need to find a more secret place—either the Hall of Kings—Miraz shivered at the thought—or the bell tower. The bell tower was very high, though not as high as some of the other towers, it was certainly quite far from anyone hearing them, and completely uninhabited from the bottom up. They would need to go there at night, around midnight, when most were probably asleep.

He woke her when it was around midnight the following night. The wind was harsh outside and the clouds foreshadowed rain.

She opened her eyes reluctantly. Upon seeing Miraz bending over her she asked, "What is it, Miraz?"

"You must come with me." He whispered. "Get your cloak."

Prunaprismia slowly rose from the bed, sliding on a pair of black slippers and fastening on a dark colored cloak. Miraz was fully dressed and looked quite determined. Prunaprismia, however, was still quite confused.

"What's going on, Miraz?" She asked, still out of sorts.

"Come." Miraz repeated, taking her wrist and leading her out the door. Prunaprismia fell silent, wordlessly wondering why her husband was acting so strangely.

His pace quickened when they came out into the hall, causing Prunaprismia to trip over her skirt and struggle to keep up. His grip tightened on her wrist and he pulled her onward. The halls were dark and uninhabited, so she knew it was very late, probably the midnight hours. This deepened her suspicions.

"Where are you taking me, Miraz—I demand an answer!" She said firmly.

Miraz turned to face her and put a finger to his lips. "Shhh." He whispered harshly.

"Miraz—I refuse to go a step further if you do not tell me." She did not lower her voice at all, gazing at him levelly.

"To the bell tower." Miraz said brusquely, pulling her onward as they continued through endless hallways. Prunaprismia once again fell silent.

They continued on until they came to a large wooden door with an iron handle. Miraz pushed it open and Prunaprismia found herself climbing a flight of stairs. Miraz went quicker still, almost running, with her lagging behind on his arm, struggling to keep her feet. The stairs seemed as endless as the hallways had been, but soon enough Prunaprismia and Miraz were standing in the room just below the belfry, Prunaprismia struggling for breath but Miraz as collected as he was when he had summoned her.

"Why have you brought me here?" Prunaprismia demanded. She tore from his grasp and looked him in the eye. "Tell me."

Miraz sighed and looked away from her. "I am a prince, Prunaprismia."

"You think I do not know that already, Miraz?"

"I know you do. But you do not understand what it feels like."

Prunaprismia grimaced. "Tell me what it feels like, then, Miraz."

"Belittling."

Prunaprismia fell silent, her grimace deepening. She knew Miraz was very ambitious, and she knew that there was more to this than what he was telling her.

"Do you know what it's like to see a foolish man who is your brother take the throne?"

"Miraz, what are you—"

"You do not."

Prunaprismia began to grow worrisome. What was her husband planning? What was he _conspiring? _

"Don't talk in riddles, Miraz." Prunaprismia said. "Tell me what it is you wish to say to me."

"It is difficult to tell people what I plan." Miraz murmured. He walked closer to her. The wind whistled through the window hauntingly as he gently took her hand in his. "Will you listen, fully and earnestly?"

"Yes." Prunaprismia nodded slowly.

Miraz was silent for a moment, then he continued. "Every man has ambitions, Prunaprismia. I have ambitions. Many ambitions. That is why I am mistaken."

"Mistaken?"

"Aye. Because of my…dark…ambitions, people mistake me for a traitor. A conspirator. An enemy. Do not mistake me, Prunaprismia, when I tell you of my dark ambitions."

Prunaprismia bit her lip and looked at the ground.

"Look at me, Prunaprismia."

She looked up at him reluctantly, seeing fire in his eyes. She wanted terribly to look down again, but she couldn't tear away from his piercing gaze.

"Do you believe Caspian should be on the throne, Prunaprismia?"

"I…I…"

"_Do you_?"

"I cannot say."

"What would you say if I told you he should be dead?"

Prunaprismia breathed in sharply, her eyes widening. Dead? Was this what Miraz was planning? Murder?

"Miraz." She gasped franticly. "You are not a murderer, Miraz! You are a good man, you wouldn't—"

"I wouldn't let a tyrant rule. A true man, a true warrior would not let a tyrant rule."

"There is a fine line between warrior and murderer, Miraz."

"What line?"

"Chivalry."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	26. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. **

**Author's Note: Oh...I've caught myself idling again. :s Well, I assure you that no more idling will take place, as we are coming very close to the end! This is just a short summing-up of things chapter. Enjoy! I'll try my best to update a little more so I can get this thing finished...  
**

Chapter 25 ~ Accepting Fate

"Prunaprismia, you must promise me—" Miraz looked at her directly. "You must promise me that you will not breathe a word of this."

Prunaprismia turned away from him, hiding her tears. She had wed a traitor and she didn't even know it. The one she married, the one she loved—was a conspirator. Did this liar even have a loving heart? Did he even know what it felt like to love?

"How can I, Miraz?" She whispered shakily. "How can I?"

"Trust me. You will see that, in time, the wrongs will be righted."

"You are not righting wrongs, Miraz!" Prunaprismia's voice rose. "You are…you are destroying a nation."

There was silence. Miraz was breathing hard, as if he were exerted. Prunaprismia sobbed. The bell gonged above their head, and thunder drawled somewhere beyond in the great gray sea of clouds. Miraz was surprised when a small tear slid down his face, but that did not melt his stony features. He still gazed at Prunaprismia, remorseful of the words he has spoken to her. Why had he been so foolish, so rash as to tell her of his wicked, wicked plot? Now she was disturbed—he could see that very clearly. In her eyes, on her face, in her words. She had not seen it in the light that Miraz had.

"You will see sense." Miraz said quietly, looking down at his hands. They were knotted cruelly into fists. Sighing heavily, he lifted one to eye level, turning it over as if it was a coin in his palm. He whispered, almost to himself, "A man's hand. It can do so much good, and so much evil. It can kill a man…and grasp the hand of another in friendship. It can commit treachery…and it can show loyalty with the sword…such a small thing…and yet it could hold the fate of the world."

Prunaprismia turned slowly and approached him at a reluctant, sedate pace, idle tears still flowing down. She grasped the fist gently, meeting Miraz's eyes.

"This hand does not have to be the hand of fate. It does not have to hold death, Miraz. It only does what you wish for it to do. It does not have to kill or commit treachery to gain honor." She said slowly. His fist receded.

"I must do what I know is right." Miraz said. "I cannot stand aside and watch my brother close his fist around this nation. I cannot. I will not."

"I cannot stand aside and watch you become a criminal before my eyes!" Prunaprismia suddenly sparked with anger.

The anger's fire spread to Miraz, who backed away from her. "Accept fate, Prunaprismia. Accept it and you will see sense."

He fled quickly, leaving Prunaprismia distraught.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	27. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. 'Nuff said. **

**Author's Note: Whoops...I've caught myself procrastinating...Oh well, I don't have much more time to procrastinate because I'll tell you now that this story is coming to an end...In the meanwhile, enjoy!!! P.S. I am aware that I have a tendency to write very short chapters...just hang in there for the time being!  
**

Chapter 26 ~ The Noble Deed

"My lord," Glozelle asked Miraz on a cold morning when they walked on the terrace. Glozelle looked skittish and nervous—he was walking fast and his dark eyes were rather wild and frightened. "How, sir, has the king corrupted Telmarine Narnia, that would make us need to be rid of him?"

Miraz glanced at Glozelle, who jumped back slightly when their eyes met. Good. Glozelle was afraid of him. That had not been so in the past, but suddenly, when Miraz became his master, he showed a bit more respect. Hopefully that is a sure sign of trust, Miraz thought.

"The village is silent, Glozelle." Miraz averted his eyes to the courtyard gates. There was no sound of merchants chattering, barrowmen crying, or shuffling feet, though the occasional murmur, cough, or series of footfalls told him that there were a few villagers out in the late morning—but there would usually be many more on Market Day. "Have you not noticed that?"

"I have not, sir." Glozelle said quietly. "Actually, sir, I have noticed—"

"They are empty, Glozelle. The streets." Miraz interrupted. "The villagers are destitute—the taxes are too high."

"But sir, that can be a thing brought to council." Glozelle protested.

Miraz looked at him again, threatening now. "Council does not change a man's heart. Words don't affect the soul of one with ambitions. Are you questioning your allegiance, Glozelle?"

"No, sir, I was…" Glozelle trailed off, his eyes looking anywhere but in the prince's. "I was…"

"What?"

"It was only a question that was on my mind, sir."

"Let it not enter your mind again."

"Aye."

It was after this happening that Miraz decided to keep a warier eye on Glozelle. The man was asking too many questions. Miraz hoped that he could still rely on Sopespian, whom he'd never even met before. Would he need to find two new conspirators?

Miraz found that he was running short of time. Caspian had been king for a whole year, and was now married. His wife was now very with child. Miraz felt the days slipping away, the _chances _slipping away, to do his horrible deed. He felt almost reluctant as well…

Was his conscience playing on him?

That would not happen. It could not. Miraz could not listen to it. He would not. He would refuse any play at his soul it tried to give him. He would not let any more time go by. The horrible deed, the noble deed, would have to be done.

And it would be done horribly soon.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	28. Chapter 27

**Dislcaimer: I do not own Narnia. I don't even own a car. 'Nuff said. **

**Author's Note: Something tells me I've been procrastinating again. Sorry to all of you avid readers! This story is very quickly coming to an end, so just hang in there! I'll probably have the last chapters posted by the end of July, if earlier, I promise you! Till then...here's Chapter 27! Some might call it short, others long, but I think it's just the right size! Enjoy!  
**

Chapter 27 ~ Prince Caspian the Tenth

It was only a few weeks later that Rose gave birth. It must've been overnight because Miraz fell asleep one night and woke up the next morning to see the king's wife, more paler than usual, looking very tired and relieved, holding a small child in her arms, wrapped in thick fabric. Caspian did not leave his wife or the child for the entire day. The village criers were sent out to every street, telling of the birth of noble blood. Miraz stood out of sight for fear someone might recognize him and ask him the whereabouts of his brother the king.

But Elizabeth, with her strange way of finding things out, managed to find Miraz walking hurriedly down an obscure hallway in the castle. She ran up to him, grinning uncontrollably.

"Oh, my lord, isn't it wonderful! There is another heir to the—" She saw the darkness in his eyes and stopped abruptly, also ceasing her steps. Miraz continued walking down the hall, now at a slower pace, paying her no attention.

But later that night Miraz was summoned to his brother's chamber. He idled in the hall, not wanting to confront his brother, for he had not once spoken with him since the night he and his brother had encountered, that seemed so long ago. He entered the chamber quietly, seeing that the entire royal family—with the exception of himself—was within Caspian's chamber. Rose sat on the bed, still looking weary, gently bouncing the child in her arms and smiling at it. She looked briefly at Miraz as he entered. Caspian barely even gave him the ghost of a glance.

"Caspian," Miraz said, slightly harsher than he had intended.

Caspian laid a violent gaze upon him. His eyes, clearer than ever, stabbed into Miraz like a crystal dagger. Through that gaze Miraz knew that the bad blood had not been settled between them.

"Miraz," Caspian declared loudly, his ever-present impish smile slinking across his face once again. He began pacing slowly, with the condescending air that Miraz had grown to hate. "You listened to my summoning."

"I—"

"After what had happened, I thought you might have ignored it."

He paused, and his eyes softened, as if he saw now that he had said the wrong words. _You have a rash tongue, brother, _Miraz thought, glaring at his brother, _if only you knew what it will cost you! _

"I hope—" Caspian stopped again, looking for words, searching the walls behind Miraz as if they'd give him council. "I hope that…that you did not take offense."

Miraz inhaled sharply, almost surprised. Caspian was asking for forgiveness once again. He would not have it. But Miraz needed Caspian's full trust in order for his plan to succeed…

"I did not, brother," Miraz replied, "Rest assured. If anyone were to take offense, it would be you, sir, for I was offensive in my ways."

"Silence, not another word." Caspian said sharply, half interrupting. "You, in no way, offended me. I love you dearly, Miraz, and I hope to gain your favor in the future."

Miraz remained silence.

"Tell him what he has been named, Caspian." Rose said quietly, a small smile on her lips.

Caspian sighed reluctantly and met his brother's eyes. "I have named him Caspian, Miraz. Not named after me, mind you…after our father. He is Prince Caspian the Tenth of Telmarine Narnia."

_So he's given him my father's name and my title! A pox on the child. _Miraz thought to himself, looking coldly at the sleeping child in Rose's arms. _He is the eldest of their family. He will have the same pain that I had in my youth. The pain of knowing that I was inferior to my own brother. If Rose was to bear another son…they would have reason to name him Miraz. _

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	29. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. **

**Author's Note: In my humble opinion...this is a pretty awesome chapter. I hope you're satisfied! Enjoy!  
**

Chapter 28 ~ A Traitor's Grave

A banquet was held the night after. All of the lavish lords and ladies that Miraz remembered so well from the numerous other banquets he had to attend as a child were invited, and all of them seemed to have found their most ridiculous looking regalia to wear. The ladies all had their hair knotted and twisted with jewels and gold and their feet were lost within their skirts and the lords wetted their moustaches with heavily-scented oils and perfumes so that the entire room would be violently rank with the scent of flowers. Miraz, however, refused to attend. He would not see his brother and his accursed son be showered with honor and glory. He knew what the future would hold. The young prince would learn his father's ways and become the tyrant his father was. Perhaps Caspian was not quite the tyrant yet, but he would be, Miraz knew. All of the power of the king bestowed upon a man such as Caspian…

Miraz, instead of standing in a stuffy room full of monarchs and frippery, decided to ride out into the cool, cloudy evening. Clad in warm clothing and a cloak, he mounted his horse and rode out of the stables. He rode out of the castle gates. He rode out of the village. He rode out of the village walls until he was in the Narnian hills that surrounded the castle.

The view of the castle was picturesque in the hilly moorland. The banners fluttered and flapped, red against the gray stone, in the windy evening. It stood like an ancient sentinel among the tall grasses of the plains, its windows alight with merriment and flame. For a brief moment, Miraz wished that he was within those safe, secure walls, in the warmth of the burning fire in the hearth, at the banquet, with his wife and even with his brother, instead of standing alone in the gray, bleak hills, surrounded by nothing but wind. But the thought was soon dismissed and Miraz mounted his horse again and continued to ride, going further and further from the castle.

The dark, dismal clouds stretched from horizon to horizon but did not, however, conceal the violent red sun that was sinking into the West, tucking itself inside the mountaintops. Thunder was audible over the ravaging wind as Miraz ascended a hill and dismounted. He looked back. The castle was very small behind him, nearly but a memory to him. He sighed deeply and turned back around to view the hills ahead. He noticed now how close to the forest he was. But that was not what concerned him. What concerned him was what was on the hill he stood on.

A gravestone.

It was small but rather elaborate. The stone was marble, it seemed, very worn by the years and looking old and tired. Tall moorland grass almost obscured it from sight; Miraz was surprised that he hadn't overlooked it. He walked toward it. A shape was carved into the stone over the worn lettering, and Miraz saw that the shape's head was the head of a demon. He knelt by the stone and pushed away the grass carefully to read the lettering carved into the marble.

PRINCE VOSTAD THE RED

LIES HERE

CONDEMNED TO AN ETERNAL GRAVE

AS HE HAD CONDEMNED HIS BROTHER

SLAIN BY HIS HAND

Miraz jumped back in fear, startling his horse. He stood up quickly and backed away. He felt it. The presence of the man who'd killed his ancestor. The man whose blood ran in him. The blood of Vostad the Red.

The wind seemed to pick up, more violent than before. The sound of thunder grew louder, and the sun got redder. Sweat broke out on Miraz's forehead despite the cold wind, and the words on the gravestone seemed to darken, becoming more and more visible until they seemed to erupt in flame.

Lighting carved through the sky. Thunder crashed suddenly. Rain drove down malevolently from the pitch-black clouds. The sun disappeared. Miraz found himself falling to his knees, a shadow leaning over him like a messenger of doom.

"You have my blood, Miraz! You have my blood!" A voice roared. Miraz thought he was dreaming. His eyes were hazed over and his vision was blurred. He did not look up and whoever was addressing him. He only listened to what he said. He felt fear and power at the same time, rushing into his veins and making his heart pulse louder until it filled his ears. His breaths quickened.

"My treachery runs in you!" The voice said, stabbing into his mind. Miraz could not ignore it. He gasped with uncontainable fear. "MY TREACHERY IS YOURS!"

Miraz suddenly jerked his head upward, pulling out a knife and crying out as he thrust it forward to attack the man who confronted him.

No one was there.

But that did not ease Miraz's pain. It did not ease his fear. The fear was overwhelming. His heart was racing faster than the rain drove down. He sheathed the knife and quickly mounted his horse, riding as fast as he could back to the castle, standing solemnly in the rain. With every step his horse took, his fear rose. His hate and anger rose. His vengeance and treachery rose. Vostad the Red was not dead. He was very much alive.

Within Miraz.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	30. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. 'Nuff said. **

**Author's Note: Gasp! Could it be? Yes, it is! I like to call this the Chapter of Judgment. DUN DUN DUN!!! I hope you like the "wrapping up" of things in this chapter! OK, so maybe not everything is summed up yet...but it will be soon! Enjoy.  
**

Chapter 29 ~ Caspian's Traitor

Miraz could not waste time. He felt the dawn of his noble deed rising before him, black and cold like the dusk that he faced racing across the plains back to the castle. Now he dismissed the warm lights of the castle. In those lights he would slay the monster who'd risen to power. In those lights he would be named the Lord Protector of the kingdom over his brother's grave. There was no doubting it: by the dawn, the castle would be without a king.

He approached the castle, not slowing his horse but charging through the open gates and down the cobblestone streets, rain still streaking his vision and thunder pounding at his ears like his throbbing heart. The knife at his side seemed to burn, searing the leather it was incased in. Though the night was cool sweat slid across his brow as he clenched the reins, riding speedily toward the castle gate. He heard the guard say something to him but he could not hear what it was he said. He only slowed when he arrived at the stables, where he dismounted and walked quickly to the terrace.

To his surprise, Elizabeth was standing there, watching him, a grimace wrinkling her brow. She was wearing a thick dress and a cloak to keep of the rain that blew into the veranda. As Miraz walked by her she caught his arm.

"Miraz." She said, raising her voice over the rain. "Where are you going?"

"I must…consult my brother." Miraz replied breathily, pulling his arm out of her grasp. "Do you know where he is?"

"In the bell tower. He seemed troubled." She explained, softer than before. "So do you. Is something wrong?"

Miraz paused, then said. "No, Elizabeth. But I must…I must speak with him. Farewell."

And he disappeared around the corner, walking quickly toward the bell tower.

He stopped abruptly when he came to the door leading up to the tower. He knew his brother was up there. He knew why. He had seen his brother's suspicious gaze when he was summoned to his quarters. Caspian should've spoken to someone of his suspicions earlier, for now it was too late, for his murderer now climbed the stairs.

As he climbed, Miraz remembered his father, the powerful eighth king of Telmarine Narnia, who had died a weak, sick old man in his bed. He remembered looking at his father's sad, dreary eyes, glittering with tears, as he died. "How could you?" He had whispered, after hearing of his son's plot. "How could you…" Miraz dismissed the thought quickly as he felt a tear sliding down his face. He grimaced, remembering Prunaprismia's reaction to his ambition, as well. She had looked at him with piercing, betrayed eyes, as if Miraz told her it was she whom he would murder. He dismissed that thought as well.

Miraz was now in the small room just below the belfry. Caspian was standing above him within it. He opened the hatch to it and climbed up. As soon as he saw the form of his brother standing there, head hung, a pang of fear washed over him. He entered silently, half unsheathing the knife.

"Brother," He murmured. Thunder rumbled in the bowels of the storm. Caspian did not turn to face him.

"Miraz." He said quietly. "Why are you here?"

"I…" Miraz trailed off, searching for words. "Caspian, I wish to…make my peace with you. I know…there is bad blood between us…and I hope that now…there won't be." He unsheathed the knife. It rang quietly as he held it in his hand. His heart raced, filling his ears once again. _My treachery is yours. _The voice rang in his ears like his pounding heart. He sighed heavily, waiting for his brother to reply.

"So, you finally see sense, Miraz?" Caspian said mournfully. It sounded as if he were crying. "There is bad blood between us, brother. What should've been in our past should now be." He turned to face Miraz. "I'm sorry."

Miraz let him see the knife, feeling tears come to his eyes. Caspian's gray eyes widened, staring at the knife and then at Miraz, his face filled with horror. He tried to back away, but then looked down the side of the bell tower to see the dizzying drop to the courtyard below.

"Miraz—" He stammered fearfully. "What are you—what are you—"

"I will not fall prey to a tyrant's rule, Caspian." Miraz growled shakily, his hand visibly trembling. "I will not tolerate a guilty soul." He walked forward, his breaths quickening as his heart raced faster. "Feel the betrayal. Feel the pain that I've suffered for all my years!"

He ran forward, crying out as he lunged toward his brother. He knew when the knife had met its mark. The color drained from Caspian's face, his bright eyes looking to the sky and his breaths becoming deeper and slower as warm liquid flowed from them. Miraz almost thought he was smiling. But tears were sliding down his cheeks.

"So…" He whispered. "This is how it ends, then? A…tyrant's rule…a vain ambition…and a…_bloody_…betrayal…" He grasped Miraz's arm, his hand trembling horribly. Thunder rumbled as Miraz laid him on the stone, letting only one tear fall. Caspian died.

It was over. His deed was done. He had committed his treachery…now he was Caspian's traitor, and betrayal's brother.

He fled from the tower as quickly as he could, taking his knife with him and leaving his brother laying there on the belfry. He ran through the halls toward the terrace, where he had met Elizabeth only moments before. She still stood there, looking out on the rain-swept courtyard. She saw Miraz and looked naively at him.

"Miraz." She said vaguely.

"Elizabeth," Miraz said hastily, his voice tight and his eyes wet with tears. "Elizabeth, I bring—I bring grave news."

"What is it, my lord?" She asked urgently, meeting his gaze.

"The king—the king—the king is dead!"

Fear flooded into Elizabeth's eyes. "The king is—dead? By whom?"

Miraz swallowed hard, then gasped, "I'm afraid, Elizabeth, that he was slain by your husband's hand."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	31. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia. **

**Author's Note: The summing-up-of-things, or the epilogue, if you will. It's not much of a 'chapter', actually--it just tells of what happens after Miraz's treachery. And this is also...the finale! Enjoy.  
**

Chapter 30 ~ What Happened Afterward

The whole castle soon learned of Steiphen's so-said betrayal, including Steiphen himself. He was thrown into the castle's prison and due to hang for treachery. King Caspian the Ninth rested with his father in the Hall of Kings. Miraz vowed never to enter that room ever again.

No one ever knew that it was actually Miraz, not Steiphen, who'd killed Caspian, except for Prunaprismia, who remained cold toward the prince ever after. It was only when Steiphen walked rigidly up to the gallows and stood there, the rope about his neck that he glanced up and met Miraz's eyes. That was when he knew. That was when Steiphen knew who the real perpetrator was. But it was too late. For on that afternoon, Commander Steiphen was executed, and Glozelle became the new commander.

Miraz then went to the liberty of banishing several lords who were loyal to his brother. They were exiled to the sea and never heard of again until Miraz's life was over.

Elizabeth could not stay in the castle. Whenever she walked down the halls she thought she heard the footsteps of her deceased husband coming up behind her and even saw his shadow, tall and straight, against the walls, raising a knife over his head. She fled the castle by night and was never heard of again. Rose fled soon after Elizabeth, for she saw the same things that Steiphen's wife saw. She left Caspian the Tenth to Miraz and Prunaprismia. The child was raised by them. As for Doctor Cornelius, he went abroad for a number of years and did not return until he was summoned once again by Miraz years later.

As treachery had also killed his brother, so it killed Miraz. His most trusted lords, as you know, plotted against him in his later years and he was slain by their hand. He had become a tyrant with the crown on his head. In his reign the dusk of Telmar fell, but when his nephew rose to the throne the dawn of a new age came.

The Brothers of Betrayal were vanquished.

**THE END **

**Whew! I'm surprised I made it all the way to the end! I've had some really hard spots in this story, and it was very difficult to chronicle the life of a traitor. But I had a lot of fun writing it! And I thank all of you readers who read my first fanfiction! Be on the lookout for some more of my fanfictions, which I might post soon! Once again, thanks for reading! **

**Sincerely, Pocketses  
**


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